.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELB* 


"I  know  he  blesses  me."    Page  8. 


hit 


BY 

HARRIET  B.  McKEEVER, 

AOTHOB  oi  "EDITH'S  MINISTRY,"  li WOODCIIFF,"  "WOODCLIFF  cimnmmmf 

"8UNSI1INE;    OR,    KATE   TINTOX." 


•Nothing  but  leaves,"  the  spirit  grieve* 

Over  a  wasted  life, 
O'er  sin  committed  while  conscien 
Promises  made,  but  never  kept, 
Folly,  and  shame,  and  strife, 
"  Nothing  but  leaves," 


PHILADELPHIA : 

S.    STUART, 
No.  9  SOUTH  NINTH  STREET. 
1881. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1870,  by 

J.  P.  SKELLY  A  Co., 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I.                                PAGE 
THK  Two  HEARERS 5 

CHAPTER  II. 
A  BABBLING  BROOK 19 

CHAPTER  III. 
"FIRST  THE  BLADE." 31 

CHAPTER  IV. 
LIP  SERVICE 39 

CHAPTER  V. 
"THEN  THE  EAR." 50 

CHAPTER  VI. 
LOOKING  BACK 61 

CHAPTER  VII. 
AN  ANSWERING  FATHER 76 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
"  CUT  IT  DOWN." 86 

CHAPTER  IX. 
VANITY  FAIR....  103 


2131637 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  X.                              PAGE 
A  RIDE  WITH  THB  CHILDREN „ 124 

CHAPTER  XI. 
THE  AUSTINS 141 

CHAPTER  XII. 
THE  SENHORA'S  BALL 164 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
THE  CARNIVAL 181 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
SILENT  FOOTSTEPS 195 

CHAPTER  XV. 
HOME  FACES 214 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
LIFE  AT  THE  PARSONAGE 229 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
BTEANGEBS 247 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
"THE  FULL  COBN  IH  THE  EAE."....  ..  265 


NOTHING  BUT  LEAVES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    TWO    HEARERS. 

THE   outskirts  of  a  very  pleasant 
village  our  first  picture  is  smiling,  and 
we  will  stop  awhile  to  contemplate  its 
features. 

The  house  is  an  old-fashioned  stone 
building  with  its  broad  piazza,  and  a  hall  in  the 
centre.  It  stands  back  from  the  village  street  in 
the  midst  of  a  green  lawn,  shaded  by  two  large 
horse-chestnut  trees. 

On  one  side  of  the  dwelling,  near  the  windows 
of  some  young  occupants,  stands  an  old  pear  tree, 
where  the  busy  little  wrens  make  their  nests  in 
the  bright  spring  time,  and  little  Letty  Winslow 
is  often  seen  watching  Jenny  and  her  brood, 
scattering  her  bread  crumbs  on  the  window-sill, 
and  enjoying  the  songs  of  the  happy  birdy.  At 
l*  5 


6  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

the  back  of  the  house,  there  is  a  tine  garden, 
part  of  which  is  devoted  to  the  cultivation  of 
vegetables,  and  the  remainder  to  lovely  flowers. 
How  is  it  that  Mrs.  Winslow  has  the  finest 
vegetables  all  around  ?  for  she  is  a  very  delicate 
woman  herself,  keeps  but  one  servant,  her  son 
Mark  too  young  to  be  of  much  use,  and  her 
means  too  small  to  hire  help. 

The  question  is  easily  answered.  John  Barlow 
and  William  Brown,  two  excellent  farmers,  take 
turns  in  cultivating  the  garden  ;  for  it  belongs  to 
the  minister's  widow,  and  they  have  not  forgotten 
the  kind  pastoral  care,  the  faithful  prayers  by 
the  death-beds  of  their  loved  ones,  and  the  cease- 
less devotion  of  their  departed  minister.  They 
made  the  bargain  in  good  faith,  and  kept  a 
watchful  eye  on  the  little  patch.  Many  a  nice 
basket  of  early  peas,  of  ripe  tomatoes,  and  sweet 
corn  is  filled  by  the  grateful  widow  as  she  bids 
them  good-evening,  and  blesses  them  in  the  name 
of  the  Lord ;  and  so  the  work  of  love  goes  on. 

There  is  moreover  a  great  variety  of  fine 
shrubbery  bordering  the  front  lawn,  and  alto- 
gether it  is  a  spot  where  a  passer-by  would  often 
stop  to  enjoy  the  refreshing  sight  of  this  cool 
green  picture,  on  a  warm  summer  day. 

But  now  it  is  the  close  of  a  spring-day,  and 
on  the  piazza  are  seated  two  whom  we  will 


THE   TWO    HEARERS.  1 

introduoe,  for  one  will  have  much  to  do  with 
our  story. 

One  is  a  young  lady  of  eighteen;  not  beau- 
tiful, for  she  has  neither  rosy  cheeks,  ruby  lips, 
nor  bright  sparkling  eyes  ;  but  there  is  something 
better  in  the  light  that  beams  from  the  expressive 
dark  grey  eyes,  and  the  smiles  that  nestle  around 
a  mouth,  that  speaks  so  many  words  of  gentle 
affection  to  the  patient  little  sufferer  by  her  side. 
What  is  it,  think  you,  my  youthful  reader  ?  It 
is  the  light  of  holiness,  though  the  sweet  girl 
knew  it  not. 

The  little  one  that  lies  in  that  child's  carriage 
is  ten  years  old,  though  she  looks  but  six,  for 
Letty  Winslow  has  been  a  cripple  from  her 
birth,  and  has  never  known  the  bliss  of  rambling 
amid  the  scenes  of  this  world,  or  of  sporting 
with  children  of  her  own  age  in  the  green  fields. 

Xo  marks  of  impatience  nor  discontent  linger 
in  those  pale  features,  but  such  a  sweet  look  of 
childish  resignation,  as  suggests  at  once  that  the 
Holy  Dove  dwells  in  that  crippled  form. 

Her  Cousin  Mary  is  entertaining  the  dear 
child  with  a  book  of  Scripture  pictures,  which 
she  holds  in  her  hand.  It  is  a  touching  sight  to 
see  how  the  dark  eye  brightens  at  pictures  of  the 
Blessed  Saviour,  in  the  many  beautiful  cuts  which 
adorn  this  volume. 


8  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

"  Let  me  see  the  one  where  He  blesses  the  chil- 
dren, Cousin  Mary,"  said  the  child,  "  I  am  never 
tired  of  that,  for  I  always  feel  as  if  I  were  one  of 
those  little  ones;  I  know  He  blesses  me,  or  else 
how  could  I  bear  all  the  pain  that  I  sometimes 
sufler  ?  Don't  you  think  so,  cousin  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  darling,  I  am  sure  that  you  are  one 
of  His  little  lambs,  and  He  will  never  leave  you, 
nor  forsake  you,  Letty." 

"  I  think,  cousin,  that  I  shall  soon  be  with  Him, 
for  I  know  that  I  don't  get  any  stronger,  and  I 
shall  be  so  happy  in  that  blessed  world ;  I  love 
to  think  about  it,  and  sing  about  it  too — let  us 
sing  my  favorite  hymn."  And  the  two  com- 
menced in  sweet  clear  tones  the  beautiful  words, 

"  Around  the  throne  of  God  in  heaven, 

Thousands  of  children  stand, 
Children  whose  sins  are  all  forgiven 

A  holy,  happy  band. 
Singing  Glory,  Glory, 
Glory  be  to  God  on  high." 

The  pale  face  of  a  middle-aged  lady  appeared 
at  one  of  the  parlor  windows,  listening  to  the 
eweet  music,  as  at  the  same  moment,  a  young 
lady  opened  the  garden  gate,  and  advanced 
towards  the  piazza. 

She  was  taller  than  Mary  Elliott,  very  hand- 
some and  showy  in  her  appearance,  with  remark- 


THE    TWO    HEARERS. 

ably  fine  dark  eyes,  and  a  rich  glowing  com- 
plexion. 

She  may  be  called  striking,  although  her 
attire  was  extremely  simple,  indeed  decidedly 
grave;  for  a  plain,  dove-colored  ribbon  sur- 
rounded her  hat,  her  dress  was  a  very  small 
figured  grave  colored  delaine,  and  her  mantle 
a  plain  black  silk,  without  the  slightest  ornament. 
It  was  not  pleasing  in  so  young  a  girl,  and  the 
contrast  between  this  costume,  and  the  neat 
becoming  attire  of  the  young  girl  on  the  piazza, 
was  quite  striking. 

Mary  Elliott  wore  the  colors  that  become 
youth,  without  bestowing  any  unnecessary 
thought  upon  the  subject,  and  Charlotte  Oliver 
really  studied  how  she  might  appear  dead  to  the 
world,  by  an  affectation  of  prim  singularity. 

"Aren't you  going  to  lecture?"  said  the  young 
visitor. 

"  I  am  afraid  not,  Charlotte,"  was  the  reply. 
"  Aunt  Margaret  is  not  well,  and  there  is  no  one 
to  put  Letty  to  bed  but  myself;  I  cannot  leave 
her  this  evening." 

"You  allow  very  small  things  to  keep  you 
away  from  the  house  of  God,  Mary,  and  now 
that  Mr.  Butler  is  delivering  these  lectures  to 
the  young,  I  think  that  you  ought  to  be  more 
punctual." 


10  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

"It  is  my  wish,  Charlotte,  but  if  I  go,  Letty 
will  have  to  be  put  to  bed  by  a  servant  whom  we 
do  not  like,  and  Aunt  Margaret  will  be  all  alone . 
I  know  what  the  subject  will  be  to-night,  and 
aunty  and  I  will  talk  about  it  when  Letty  is 
asleep." 

"  You  have  strange  ideas  of  duty,  Mary ;  the 
salvation  of  the  soul  should  always  be  the  first 
object,  and  every  thing  be  made  to  give  way  to 
that." 

"  That  is  all  true,  Charlotte,  but  staving  away 
from  an  evening  lecture  does  not  endanger  the 
soul  when  the  motive  is  right." 

"  I  don't  think  that  we  ought  ever  to  neglect 
one  service,  if  we  are  well  enough  to  go — good 
evening,  Mary,  I  will  pray  for  you  that  you  may 
have  more  light*" 

Mary  saw  her  consin  depart  with  regret,  for 
she  loved  the  services  of  God's  house,  and  felt 
with  David,  that  she  "  would  rather  be  a  door- 
keeper in  the  house  of  the  Lord  than  to  dwell  in 
the  tents  of  wickedness." 

The  sun  was  rapidly  descending  behind  the 
trees,  and  Mary  turning  to  her  little  cousin  said, 
"Come,  Letty,  it  is  time  to  retire,  you  have  not 
been  very  well  to-day." 

"  You  are  so  good,  Cousin  Mary,  to  stay  at 
home  for  me,  I  do  not  like  Jaue  to  put  me  to  bed, 


THE    TWO    HEARERS.  ll 

for  she  always  makes  me  hurry  with  my  prayers." 
Mrs.  Winslow  was  reclining  on  the  parlor  sofa, 
and  Mary,  lifting  the  child  from  the  carriage, 
carried  her  to  her  mother,  when  the  good-night 
kiss  was  given. 

A  half  hour's  chat  with  the  little  girl  was 
particularly  grateful  this  evening,  and  after  her 
simple  prayer  was  offered  up  so  reverentty,  Mary 
laid  her  upon  her  little  couch,  kissed  her,  and 
then  hurried  to  her  aunt. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  you  have  heen  disappointed 
my  dear,"  said  the  good  lady,  "it  is  so  important 
for  you  to  attend  these  lectures." 

"  I  am  sure  that  I  was  right,  aunt,  we  can  talk 
ahout  the  subject  here  at  home,  ai.d  perhaps 
God,  who  knows  why  I  am  absent,  may  send 
the  light  of  his  spirit  into  this  parlor,  as  well  aa 
in  the  house  of  God." 

"What  is  the  subject  to-night,  Mary?" 

"  It  is  upon  the  duty  of  an  open  profession, 
aunt ;  when  do  you  think  it  right  for  a  young 
person  ?  I  have  thought  so  much  upon  it  lately." 

"  Your  uncle  changed  his  views  very  much 
upon  that  subject  in  the  latter  years  of  his  min- 
istry, Mary,  and  generally  extended  the  time  of 
probation  much  more  than  at  first— nothing  is 
gained  by  hasty  professions,  sometimes  much 
evil  is  done." 


12  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

*  I  wish  to  be  a  real  Christian,  dear  amit,  and 
therefore  I  hesitate  until  well  assured  that 
a  spiritual  change  has  passed  upon  my  heart. 
I  am  not  ashamed  of  Jesus,  aunt,  but  I  cannot, 
run  the  risk  of  making  a  false  profession." 

"You  are  right,  my  love, count  the  cost  first, 
and  then,  trusting  on  divine  grace,  go  forward." 

"  Charlotte  seems -very  much  in  earnest,  aunt," 
said  the  young  lady. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  replied  Mrs.  Winslow,  "  but  let 
us  remember  the  hearers  of  the  Gospel — there 
were  the  wayside  hearers,  where  the  seed  was 
quickly  caught  up,  the  stony  ground  hearers,  the 
seed  springing  up  suddenly  for  want  of  depth, 
soon  scorched  by  the  burning  sun,  and  those 
described  as  receiving  the  seed  into  good  soil." 

"  What  can  be  meant  by  good,  aunt  ?  for  we 
know  that  all  have  evil  hearts." 

"  Yes,  Mary,  that  is  true,  but  the  good  ground 
must  mean  ground  prepared  by  the  Holy  Spirit, 
for  the  reception  of  the  divine  word." 

"  That  is  what  I  desire,  aunt." 

"  Seek  for  it,  Mary,  pray  for  light  to  know 
yourself,  and  then  to  know  your  Saviour;  you 
cannot  be  too  importunate,  or  ask  too  much." 

Who  can  doubt  that  these  hours  of  com- 
munion were  means  of  grace  to  Mary  Elliott? 
Blessed  home  for  the  young  girl:  from  the  age 


THE   TWO   HEARERS.  13 

of  six,  had  she  dwelt  beneath  the  roof  of  her 
pious  relatives,  daily  listened  to  faithful  words  of 
earnest  godliness,  and  read  in  the  lives  of  her 
uncle  and  aunt  living  epistles  of  the  power  of 
the  Gospel. 

Mary  Elliott  was  the  eldest  daughter  of  Mrs. 
Winslow's  sister  Helen,  the  beauty  of  the  family, 
who  had  married  very  young,  lost  her  husband, 
and  then  marrying  a  rich  Portuguese,  she  had 
gone  to  South  America,  leaving  her  little  girl, 
then  a  child  of  six,  under  the  care  of  her  sister 
Margaret,  desiring  that  she  might  have  the 
benefit  of  a  Protestant  education. 

Little  did  she  know  of  the  weakness  of  her 
own  principles,  that  yielded  so  soon  to  the  influ- 
ence of  her  husband  in  a  Popish  country,  for  ere 
she  had  been  there  two  years,  she  had  herself 
•joined  the  Roman  Catholic  church,  and  had 
become  much  more  of  a  devotee  than  the  senor. 

Mr.  "Winslow  was  a  clergyman  eminent  for 
piety  and  intelligence,  and  amid  the  hallowed 
influences  of  the  parsonage  at  Hollyville,  Mary 
Elliott  had  passed  the  years  of  her  young  life. 

When  she  was  about  sixteen,  the  faithful 
pastor  had  been  called  away  to  "the  rest  that 
remaineth  for  the  people  of  God,"  and  Mary  still 
remained  with  her  aunt,  mutually  blessing  each 
other. 

2 


14  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

There  was  one  son,  a  lad  of  eighteen,  Mark 
"Winslow,  a  bright,  impulsive,  intelligent  youth 
especially  influenced  by  gentle  Cousin  Mary, 
Emily,  a  daughter  of  fourteen,  and  little  Letty, 
a  child  of  ten,  afflicted  with  a  disease  of  the  spine 
from  the  day  of  her  birth. 

Mrs.  Wiuslow  owned  the  house  she  lived  in, 
and  had  a  small  annuity,  but  Mary's  income 
helped  her  very  much,  as  having  a  wealthy 
mother,  an  abundant  support  was  allowed  her. 

Charlotte  Elliot,  her  cousin,  lived  near  her  in 
the  village,  she  was  a  very  excitable  girl,  quick 
to  feel,  and  as  quick  to  change. 

A  period  of  great  seriousness  had  long  pre- 
vailed in  the  parish,  and  Charlotte  had  appeared 
deeply  impressed  under  the  power  of  divine 
truth,  but  it  remained  for  time  to  prove  how 
much  of  the  work  was  real,  and  how  much  the 
effect  of  sympathy  with  others. 

Mary  had  long  kept  a  diary,  from  which  we 
shall  make  frequent  extracts,  for  she  felt  assured 
that  daily  converse  with  her  own  spirit  was 
especially  beneficial :  let  us  peep  at  one  now. 

"  Yesterday  was  a  solemn  Sabbath-day,  fifteen 
openly  professed  their  faith  in  the  Redeemer. 
I  feel  a  longing  to  be  there,  but  the  more  that  I 
read  in  God's  holy  word,  the  more  do  I  see  that 
to  be  a  Christian  is  not  simply  to  lead  a  decent 


THE    TWO   HEARERS.  15 

life  before  men,  or  even  to  make  a  profession  of 
the  Saviour's  name,  but  implies  a  life  of  God  in 
the  soul,  which  must  precede  this  outward  act. 

"  Bread  cannot  feed  a  dead  body,  light  cannot 
beam  where  there  is  no  atmosphere,  morality  is 
not  holiness,  amiable  aifections  are  not  holiness. 
Ere  I  partake  of  spiritual  food,  let  me  ask,  have 
1  a  spiritual  appetite  ?  Ere  I  eat  the  children's 
bread,  let  me  ask  has  the  new  birth  made  me 
one  of  the  little  flock  ?  Thanks  to  Uncle  Wiris- 
low  for  such  clear,  decided  teaching  on  the  subject. 

"  There  were  some  in  that  little  company,  who 
I  doubt  not  are  all  that  they  professed,  the 
humble  followers  of  the  meek  and  lowly  Saviour, 
but  there  were  others  who  have  been  so  hasty. 
I  wonder  how  it  is  with  Charlotte  Oliver.  I 
must  not  judge  her,  to  her  own  Master  she 
stands  or  falls,  but  it  is  so  very  recently  that  she 
has  appeared  interested  in  serious  things,  I 
sometimes  fear  that  she  has  been  over  hasty,  and 
when  the  days  of  trial  come,  she  may  fall  away. 

"  Mark  looked  so  solemn,  I  wish  that  he  were 
a  Christian ;  with  his  bright  talents  and  warm 
heart,  he  would  do  much  for  the  Master's  cause. 

u  I  have  strong  faith  for  Mark,  he  is  a  son  of 
the  righteous,  and  to  such  are  the  promises. 
Letty  is  a  dear,  precious  child  of  God,  and 
Emily,  too,  is  a  subject  of  much  serious  thought. 


16  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

"  For  those  educated  as  we  have  been,  it  is  hard 
to  say  where  the  work  of  divine  grace  really 
does  commence,  for  from  our  earliest  days,  we 
have  been  fed  upon  the  milk  of  the  Gospel. 
Sometimes  I  hope  that  I  am  renewed  in  the 
spirit  of  my  mind,  and  then  again,  I  fear  that 
much  that  is  simply  the  effect  of  education  I 
may  mistake  for  the  work  of  grace.  Expressions 
in  the  Bible  are  very  peculiar.  '  A  new  creature 
in  Christ  Jesus ;'  '  Born  again ;'  '  A  life  hidden 
with  Christ  in  God ;'  '  Christ  in  you,  the  hope 
of  glory  ;' '  Justified  by  faith  ;' '  Peace  with  God ;' 
4  Accepted  in  the  beloved ;'  '  Having  a  full  assur- 
ance of  faith.' 

"These  expressions  indicate  something  in  the 
state  of  the  soul,  not  belonging  to  unregenerated 
nature,  and  these  I  long  to  possess ;  they  are  so 
deep,  so  high,  that  sometimes  I  am  discouraged, 
but  then  again  I  read,  '  First  the  blade,  then 
the  ear,  then  the  full  corn  in  the  ear.' 

"  Only  let  me  know,  dear  Lord,  if  the  little  blade 
is  really  shooting;  if  so,  then  I  am  sure  that  he 
who  hath  begun  a  good  work  in  his  humble 
child,  will  perfect  it  in  the  day  of  the  Lord 
Jesus ;  now  what  are  these  marks  ?  Sorrow  for, 
arid  hatred  of  sin,  not  slavish  fear  of  punish- 
ment, because  with  the  first  dawn  of  penitence, 
is  mingled  love — simple  trust  in  Jesus  only — not 


THE   TWO    HEARERS.  17 

in  frames,  not  in  feelings,  not  in  prayers,  but  in 
Jesvs  only  ;  in  his  finished  sacrifice,  his  precious 
atonement,  his  present  salvation.  Sometimes  I 
have  such  glimpses  of  the  cross  of  the  Redeemer, 
and  waves  of  peace  flow  over  my  whole  spirit, 
but  oh !  how  short  the  blessedness. 

"  Another  mark  is  a  determination  to  give  up 
all  for  him,  love  of  prayer,  love  of  God's  word, 
love  of  God's  people,  desire  to  be  conformed 
wholly  to  his  will. 

"  I  think  the  blade  is  shooting  up  little  green 
buds,  may  the  Lord  bring  forth  the  ear,  then 

the  ripe,  full  corn." 
********* 

Letters  have  just  arrived  from  South  America, 
the  Senhora  expresses  a  strong  desire  to  see  her 
daughter,  and  says  that  some  day  she  must  ex- 
pect to  join  them. 

Tells  about  her  brother  Leon  and  her  sister 
Viola,  sends  a  family  picture ;  the  children  are 
beautiful,  with  liquid  dark  eyes,  rich  olive  com- 
plexions, and  delicate  forms.  Mary  longs  to  know 
them  ;  but  the  thought  of  leaving  a  Protestant 
country  to  go  into  a  land  of  such  a  dearth  of 
spiritual  privilege  seems  really  bewildering. 

Putting  the  evil  day  afar  off",  Mary  took  her 
picture  to  her  aunt. 

"  Does  that  look  like  my  mother  ?"  said  Mary. 
2* 


18  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

"  Yes,  Mary,  but  she  is  much  faded,  she  waa 
very  handsome  when  she  left  this  country." 

It  was  a  beautiful  woman,  clad  in  the  costume 
of  the  country,  with  a  rich  black  lace  mantilla 
imparting  softness  to  the  delicate  features.  The 
husband  was  a  real  Brazilian,  with  a  fine  face, 
much  in  it  to  like. 

"  Do  you  think  I  will  ever  have  to  go,  aunt  ?" 
Baid  her  niece. 

"  Yes,  Mary,  I  expect  a  summons  one  of  these 
days,  and  therefore  I  wish  your  Christian  char- 
acter fully  formed  before  that  day  of  trial." 

"  How  did  my  mother  become  a  Romanist  ?" 

"  She  was  by  no  means  an  established  Chris- 
tian when  she  left  us,  she  loves  her  husband  very 
fondly,  and  in  the  absence  of  other  influences, 
she  was  easily  wrought  upon ;  but  still  she  has 
had  the  benefit  of  early  religious  training  in  the 
simple  gospel,  and  I  cannot  regard  the  word  as 
seed  sown  altogether  in  vain." 


A   BABBLI3G    BROOK.  19 


CHAPTER  IL 

A.     BABBLING    BROOK. 

..HE    restless    spirit   of    Charlotte    wag 
constantly  impelling  her  forward,  not 


in  the  way  of  humble,  fervent  piety,  but 
in  that  obtrusive,  busy  manner  so  often 
condemned  in  the  writings  of  the  apos- 
tles ;  consequently,  in  a  few  days,  we  find 
her  on  a  mission  to  her  cousin.  Mary  Elliott. 

At  the  close  of  a  very  bustling  day,  Charlotte 
is  threading  her  way  up  the  path  that  led  to 
Mrs.  Winslow's. 

Seating  herself  in  the  family  parlor,  she  laid 
aside  her  hat,  and  with  a  patronizing  air  addressed 
Mary  Elliott. 

"  How  long  do  you  expect  to  halt  between  two 
opinions,  Mary?"  inquired  her  cousin. 

"I  am  not  halting,  my  dear  cousin,  I  am 
convinced  of  the  beauty  and  excellence  of  true, 
heart -felt  piety,  and  am  most  earnestly  striving 
to  be  a  partaker  of  its  blessedness." 

"I  think  you  are  mistaken,  Mary,  about  the 


20  FOTIIINa    BUT   LEAVES. 

way  we  are  called  upon  to  decide  at  once,  for 
Christ  or  Belial." 

"  I  think  that  I  have  decided  long  ago,  and 
am  only  trying  and  proving  my  heart,  to  see 
what  is  real,  and  what  may  be  false  there." 

"Is  not  the  command,  'Come  out  from  the 
world,  and  be  separate  ?' " 

"Yes,  Charlotte,  and  there  is  another  too, 
which  says  '  Examine  yourselves  whether  ye  be 
in  the  faith.' " 

"  But  while  you  are  hesitating,  you  may  be 
grieving  away  God's  Holy  Spirit." 

"  I  think  not,  Charlotte,  for  it  is  my  morning 
and  evening  prayer,  '  Cast  me  not  away  from  thy 
presence,  and  take  not  the  Holy  Spirit  from  me ;' 
I  have  seen  so  much  of  hasty  professions,  that  I 
fear  for  myself,  Charlotte.  I  trust,  my  dear 
cousin,  that  last  Sabbath  was  a  happy  day  ?" 

"  I  did  not  realize  all  that  I  hope  for,  Mary, 
but  I  know  that  I  was  doing  my  duty.  I  am 
trying  to  take  up  my  cross,  for  I  feel  that  I  shall 
have  one  to  bear  at  home." 

"  Was  not  your  mother  pleased  with  the  step 
that  you  have  taken,  Charlotte?" 

"  No,  Mary,  she  is  very  unkind,  she  expects  as 
much  of  me,  as  if  I  were  an  advanced  Christian ;. 
T  fear  that  I  shall  be  one  of  those  who  are 
'  persecuted  for  righteousness'  sake.' " 


A   BABBLING    BROOK.  21 

"If  your  piety  only  makes  you  a  better 
daughter  and  sister  that  will  recommend  the 
religion  that  you  profess,  Charlotte,  and  may 
lead,  one  by  one,  all  the  dear  members  of  your 
family  into  the  fold." 

"I  do  not  look  for  it,  Mary;  my  duties  as  a 
Christian  are  so  many,  and  will  lead  me  so 
often  away  from  home,  that  I  expect  continual 
warfare." 

"  "Would  it  not  be  well,  dear  cousin,  to  see  how 
much  of  your  Christian  influence  should  be  ex- 
erted at  home,  ere  you  step  out  of  doors  to  find 
afield?" 

"  I  despair  of  doing  any  good  there,  for  father 
and  mother  are  always  finding  fault  with  me, 
and,  therefore,  I  must  look  for  a  fie  d  elsewhere; 
there  is  the  Dorcas  Society,  I  cannot  neglect 
that,  for  we  are  commanded  to  be  kind  to  the 
poor;  then  there  is  the  sewing  circle  for  missions, 
it  would  be  dreadful  to  pass  by  that,  then  another 
day '  to  visit  my  Sunday  scholars,  another  to 
attend  the  Bible  class,  one  evening  for  lecture, 
and  another  for  prayer-meeting;  so  you  see, 
Mary,  that  if  I  do  my  duty  in  all  these  fields, 
I  cannot  be  much  at  home." 

"  But,  Charlotte,  may  you  not  be  neglecting 
most  solemn  duties,  by  this  out-door  piety? 
Aunt  Oliver  must  have  a  great  deal  to  do,  with 


22  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

herself,  husband,  son  and  three  girls  to  sew  for. 
It  seems  to  me  that  it  ought  to  be  so  delightful 
for  you  to  feel  that  you  can  help  your  weary 
mother?" 

"  I  do,  Mary ;  every  Saturday  morning  I  clean 
the  parlor,  and  when  I  am  at  home  in  the  even- 
ing, I  help  with  the  sewing;  but  if  those  who 
profess  the  name  of  Christ  hold  back  from  the 
cause,  who  is  to  help  it  forward  ?" 

"What  is  the  cause,  Charlotte?  read  the 
Epistles  carefully,  and  see  how  minutely  a 
woman's  duties  are  laid  down — there  is  so  much 
about  domestic  life  commanded ;  sometimes 
in  laboring  so  much  out  of  doors,  we  may  be 
passing  by  the  very  field  that  our  Master  ex- 
pects us  to  cultivate.  There  is  another  duty, 
my  dear  cousin,  another  field  that  we  have  to 
look  after." 

"  What  is  that,  Mary  ?" 

"  Our  own  deceitful  hearts,  Charlotte ;  out  of 
its  secret  chambers  we  are  told  come  the  issues 
of  life  and  death." 

"  I  have  very  little  time  for  that,  Mary,  for  I 
get  so  tired  with  my  daily  routine  of  duties, 
that  when  evening  comes,  I  am  almost  too  weary 
even  to  read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible,  and  some- 
times drop  asleep  on  my  knees." 

"  Don't  you  feel  afraid  that  religion  may  thus 


A   BABBLING    BKOOK.  23 

dwindle  away  at  last  to  a  mere  routine  of  out- 
door excitement,  while  the  heart  is  left  to  work 
out  its  own  will  ?" 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,  Mary,  but  don't  you 
think  that  these  things  ought  to  be  attended  to 
by  Christians  ?" 

"Undoubtedly,  if  we  can  do  so,  without 
neglecting  the  sacred  duties  of  the  little  sphere 
where  our  Master  has  placed  us." 

"  How  is  it,  Mary,  that  you  do  not  attend  our 
Dorcas  meeting  ?  we  are  very  much  in  need  of 
workers." 

"  I  cannot  always  leave  home,  Charlotte ;  Aunt 
Margaret  is  very  delicate,  sometimes  cannot 
leave  her  room  until  ten  in  the  morning ;  little 
Letty  must  always  have  some  one  with  her,  and 
I  cannot  step  over  these,  to  seek  out-door  work. 
It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  work  for  the  Lord,  and 
I  think  I  can  make  an  arrangement  by  which  I 
can  have  some  work  at  home." 

"  Will  you  go  to  our  next  meeting  ?" 

"  Yes,  Charlotte,  but  I  do  not  expect  to  go 
always," 

After  the  young  lady  had  taken  her  departure, 
Mary  felt  -as  though  she  had  been  listening  to 
the  babbling  of  a  noisy,  shallow  brook,  but  an 
hour's  tranquil  communion  with  her  gentle, 
holy  aunt,  restored  the  quiet  of  her  spirit. 


24  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

"We  will  follow  Charlotte  to  her  home  after  this 
day's  bustle  and  noise. 

"Where  have  you  been  this  long  while, 
Charlotte  ?"  inquired  her  mother.  "  I  have  been 
working  the  whole  day,  with  no  one  to  help  me 
until  my  head  aches  with  weariness." 

"  This  was  my  Dorcas  day,  mother,  and  this 
afternoon  I  have  been  visiting  some  of  my  poor 
people." 

"  Ah !  Charlotte,  if  you  could  only  look  upon 
your  mother  and  your  home,  you  might  find 
plenty  to  do  here,  without  searching  after  miser- 
able beggars." 

Charlotte  lost  her  temper,  and  replied,  "  You 
are  always  finding  fault  with  me,  mother,  not  a 
word  of  encouragement  do  I  get  here,  nothing 
but  persecution  and  unkindness,"  and  Charlotte 
burst  into  a  flood  of  angry  tears. 

"If  I  saw  any  of  the  fruits  of  real  piety  about 
you,  Charlotte,  I  should  not  complain  ;  but  really 
I  cannot  help  thinking  on  the  passage  in  the 
New  Testament  which  speaks  of  young  people 
as  'learning  to  be  idle,  wandering  about  from 
house  to  house,  and  not  only  idle,  but  tattlers 
also,  and  busy  bodies,  speaking  things  Wiiich 
they  ought  not.' " 

"  I  think  you  are  very  unjust,  mother,"  said  the 
young  girl,  as  she  flounced  out  of  the  room. 


A   BABBLING    BROOK.  25 

Closing  the  chamber  door,  she  sat  down  for  a 
few-  minutes  weeping  bitterly,  and  thinking 
herself  one  of  the  most  abused  of  suffering, 
persecuted  Christians. 

Her  spirit  was  too  much  ruffled  for  communion 
with  a  holy  God,  so  reading  a  few  words  in  the 
Psalm,  and  bowing  down  at  the  foot  of  her 
bed,  she  murmured  a  hasty  prayer,  and  throwing 
herself  upon  her  pillow,  soon  cried  herself  to 
sleep. 

Poor,  mistaken  Charlotte ! 

Mary,  too,  in  her  chamber,  her  duties  all 
performed,  and  before  her  little  table,  with  pen, 
ink,  and  paper,  communes  with  her  spirit  in 
her  diary. 

"  How  blessed  am  I  in  this  quiet  home  of  love ! 
Poor  Charlotte!  I  am  sorry  for  her,  she  has 
never  had  the  benefits  of  such  a  home,  neither 
her  father  nor  mother  pretend  to  any  piety,  this 
world  bounds  their  vision,  and  they  have  no 
sympathy  with  those  interested  in  serious 
things.  I  fear  that  my  cousin's  restless,  unchar- 
itable spirit  will  not  recommend  religion  in  their 
dight.  O!  that  she  could  see  the  loveliness 
of  woman's  humble  province  as  laid  down  in 
the  word  of  God.  May  its  holy  teaching  be 
written  with  a  diamond  pen  upon  my  own 
heart.  ,  'But  let  it  be  the  hidden  man  of 
3 


2t>  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

the  heart,  in  that  which  is  not  corruptible, 
even  the  ornament  of  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit, 
which  is  in  the  sight  of  God  of  great  price.'  ' 

Charlotte,  true  to  her  appointment,  called  for 
Mary  to  accompany  her  to  the  Dorcas  meeting. 

A  number  of  young  ladies  were  present,  presi- 
ded over  by  Mrs.  Lacey,  a  most  excellent,  useful 
lady. 

"  We  are  glad  to  see  you,  Miss  Elliott,"  said 
the  directors,  "  are  you  going  to  join  us  ?" 

"  By  my  subscription,  yes,  but  by  my  atten- 
dance, I  fear  not ;  the  nature  of  my  engagements 
will  prevent  that." 

Mrs.  Lacey  handed  her  some  work,  and  she 
took  her  seat  by  Charlotte  and  Matilda  Hope. 

She  was  soon  deeply  pained  by  the  young 
ladies'  conversation,  who  seemed  to  be  discussing 
their  neighbors'  faults. 

"  Did  you  observe  Mrs.  Butler's  dress  last  Sun- 
day," said  Matilda. 

"  Yes,  it  was  a  very  handsome  silk,"  was  the 
reply,  "  I  should  think  that  it  must  have  cost  at 
least  two  dollars  a  yard ;  and  Harriet's  bonnet 
was  quite  too  tasty  for  a  minister's  daughter — 
don't  you  think  so,  Matilda?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  when  Mr.  Butler  tells  us  that 
we  ought  to  come  out  from  the  world,  I  think 
thut  hia  own  family  ought  to  set  the  example." 


A    BABBLING    BROOK.  27 

"  Doubtless  he  meant  the  whole  spirit  of  the 
world,"  said  Mary,  who  had  heard  the  remarks  ; 
"there  are  many  heart-sins  to  be  removed — if 
that  is  right,  all  the  rest  will  be  right.  I  do  not 
think  that  you  remember  that  Mr.  Butler  has  a 
wealthy  father,  and  I  dare  say  the  articles  of  a 
lady's  wardrobe  that  you  complain  of,  were  sent 
by  him.  There  is  one  thing  that  I  have  observed, 
Charlotte ;  in  all  my  intercourse  with  Mr. 
Butler's  family,  dress  has  never  formed  a  sub- 
ject of  conversation." 

*'  You  do  not  justify  extravagance  and  world- 
liness,  I  hope,  Mary." 

"I  trust  not,  Cha-lotte,  but  that  is  a  matter 
that  each  Christian  must  settle  for  herself,  it  is 
impossible  for  us  to  judge  for  each  other." 

"I  think  you  are  quite  a  tasty  little  lady, 
Cousin  Mary,  and  a  spice  of  vanity  in  your 
nature,  else  why  do  you  choose  blue  so  fre- 
quentljT  ?" 

"  Just  because  it  is  becoming,  Charlotte,  for  I 
cannot  imagine  any  piety  in  trying  to  make  our- 
selves disagreeable,  by  affecting  pious  costume, 
and  wearing  colors  suitable  for  the  aged.  Aunt 
Margaret  regulates  all  that  for  me,  and  I  am 
willing  to  be  guided  by  her  good  sense  and  piety. 
I  own  that  I  admire  pretty  things  wherever  I 
see  them,  but  so  small  is  the  consideration  in 


28  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

whi^li  I  hold  such  matters,  that  if  I  felt 
called  upon  to  do  so,  I  would  wear  drab  color  to 
the  end  of  my  life ;  but  Aunt  Margaret  says  that 
she  has  often  observed  that  young  professors 
beginning  with  such  ultra  notions,  soon  substi- 
tute scarlet  and  feathers,  for  drab  and  brown — • 
BO  take  care,  Cousin  Charlotte." 

"  What  then  becomes  of  the  comm  md,  '  Come 
out  from  the  world,  and  be  separate  ?"  said  Char- 
lotte. 

"  It  calls  upon  us  to  watch  the  secret  move- 
ments of  our  hearts,  Charlotte,"  was  the  meek 
reply,  "  there  is  the  seat  of  pride,  worldliness, 
and  censoriousness ;  all  proceeding  from  a  want 
of  the  spirit  .of  humility  and  love ;  and  this  is  the 
spirit  of  the  world  that  must  be  cast  out." 

Charlotte  turned  away,  and  addressed  her 
companion. 

"  Did  you  hear  about  Martha  Roberts  ?  I  was 
told  that  >he  went  to  a  ball  last  week,  where 
there  was  dancing  until  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning." 

"  Indeed !"  was  the  reply,  "  I  am  not  suiv 
prised ;  I  never  thought  that  she  had  the  root  of 
the  matter  in  her." 

Mary  hud  heard  this  uncharitable  speech,  and 
quietly  replied, 

"She   was   bridesmaid   to   her  Cousin   Ellen, 


A    BABBLING    BROOK.  29 

there  was  a  laige  company,  Charlotte,  but  neither 
dancing  nor  late  hours,  for  Mr.  Butler  married 
them,  the  party  set  out  immediately  upon  a 
journey,  and  the  company  dispersed  at  reasonable 
hours." 

Mary  was  heartily  tired  of  this  gossip,  and 
taking  home  her  share  of  work,  quietly  told  Aunt 
Margaret  that  she  would  do  her  share  at  home, 
where  she  would  not  be  compelled  to  listen  to 
such  uncharitable  comments. 

Mary  has  a  charming  voice,  and  often  sings 
with  Mark  to  keep  him  at  home ;  for  there  are 
some  boys  in  the  village,  whom  she  wishes  him 
to  avoid. 

This  is  a  critical  period  in  Mark's  life,  when 
his  character  is  moving  round  a  pivot,  a  very 
dangerous  time  for  an  impressible  boy  like  Mark. 

Charlotte  steps  in  one  evening,  and  finds  Mary 
at  the  piano,  Mark  choosing  the  music,  and  the 
two  singing  some  very  beautiful  songs,  but  not 
one  containing  an  improper  sentiment. 

"I  am  very  sorry  to  see  you  wasting  your 
voice  upon  such  music,  Mary,"  said  her  cousin. 

"  Why,  what  would  you  have  me  to  do  ?  sing 
hymns  for  entertainment !  I  prefer  sacred  -music, 
Mark  does  not ;  if  I  tire  him  out  with  what  is 
distasteful,  I  shall  drive  him  out,  and  that  I  do 
not  wish  to  do." 


80  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

"  It  seems  to  me  a  great  waste  of  time  to  be 
singing  songs,  Mary." 

"  Uncle  Winslow  did  not  think  so,  he  used  to 
choose  them  for  us,  and  sometimes  would  join  us 
himself." 

"  A  minister  sing  songs,  Mary !  I  am  quite 
surprised  !" 

"  Here,  in  his  own  home,  many  a  time  would 
he  join  us  to  make  home  happy,  but  never  one 
word  that  was  inconsistent  with  the  teachings 
of  our  dear  Lord  ;  for  I  believe  that  he  would 
have  smiled  on  us  himself,  if  he  been  here  in 
person." 

"  What  a  strange  girl  you  are !"  said  Char- 
lotte ;  "  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  you, 
Mary." 

"  I  know,"  said  Mark,  "  she  is  one  who  is 
always  trying  to  make  us  all  good  and  happy, 
Charlotte,  and  her  religion  is  sunny  and  bright, 
just  like  dear  father's." 

"It  seems  to  me  that  people  preparing  for 
eternity,  have  no  time  for  these  things,"  said 
Charlotte. 

"  They  have  none  for  sinful  recreation ;  but  as 
flowers  are  scattered  in  our  path,  we  are  per- 
mitted to  pluck  them  by  the  way ;  and  I  see 
nothing  to  prevent  our  enjoyment  of  those  social 
pleasures  which  our  Father  approves." 


TIRST    THE    BLADE. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"FIRST    THE 


'IARY  —  "Is  there  really  progress  in 
Christian  character?  What  are  the 
fruits  of  the  Spirit?  'Love'  —  do  I  love 
my  Saviour  ?  do  I  love  my  fellow  Chris- 
tians? do  I  delight  in  communion  with  my 
Father  in  heaven?  I  think  that  I  can  answer 
in  the  affirmative.  -  I  can  adopt  the  language  of 
the  hymn  : 

"  '  How  sweet  the  name  of  Jesus  sounds 
In  a  believer's  ear!' 

"  '  Joy  '  —  what  are  the  chief  sources  of  my  joy  ? 
Do  I  delight  in  the  things  of  the  world?  No  — 
my  joy  comes  from  a  deeper,  purer  source.  I 
rejoice,  I  trust,  in  the  dawn  of  a  Saviour's  favor, 
in  the  hope  of  union  with  himself. 

"'Peace'  —  peace  with  God  through  Jesus 
Christ  —  faint,  but  sweet  and  holy,  pervading  my 
whole  being  —  following  me  in  my  daily  walks, 
mingling  with  all  my  employments. 


32  NOTHING   BUT   I  EAVES. 

"'Long-suffering' — a  disposition  to  bear  with 
the  infirmities  of  my  fellow  Christians,  knowing 
that  I  possess  so  many. 

" '  Gentleness ' — the  mind  of  Jesus,  that  patient, 
loving  temper,  which  belongs  only  to  the  fol- 
lowers of  the  Lamb. 

" '  Goodness,  faith,  meekness,  temperance.' — I 
think  I  can  trace  these  lineaments ;  and  if  so,  if 
they  are  real,  then  is  it  not  evidence  that  I  have 
something  of  the  mind  of  Jesus  ?  If  so,  to  God 
be  all  the  glory,  for  grace  must  have  all  the 
praise,  nature  none. 

" '  First  the  blade,' — I  trust  that  these  are  the 
tender  shoots." 

Mark  is  at  school,  and  frequently  gets  into 
trouble  by  his  hot,  impatient  temper — there  is  a 
boy  named  Richard  Cole,  very  envious  of  Mark, 
for  he  always  holds  a  high  rank  in  his  classes; 
it  is  this  boy's  delight  to  rouse  Mark's  irri- 
table disposition,  and  he  never  passes  by  an  op- 
portunity. 

Mary  often  takes  her  little  Cousin  Letty  out 

in  her  carnage,  and  one  afternoon,  as  Mark  was 

drawing  it  along,  Richard  passed  by ;  he  knew 

'.low  Mark  loved  his  deformed  sister,  and  with  a 

neer  he  raid, 

"•  How  are  you  to-day,  little  humpback  !" 


FIRST    THE    BLADE.  3? 

"How  dare  you!"  said  Mark,  dropping  the 
shaft  of  the  carriage,  and  with  a  blow  of  his 
fist  striking  Richard  in  the  face — the  blood 
gushed  from  his  nose,  and  little  Letty  said, 

"  Don't,  brother  Mark,  don't  fight  for  me ;  I 
don't  care  about  being  called  humpback;  God 
made  me  so." 

Richard  was  a  coward,  and  sitting  down  by 
the  side  of  the  road,  he  commenced  blubbering 
like  a  great  calf. 

Mary  ran  to  a  neighboring  brook,  and  bring- 
ing a  wet  handkerchief,  she  washed  the  boy's 
face,  and  tried  to  soothe  his  irritated  feelings. 

u  Mark  is  very  hasty,1'  said  his  cousin,  "  but 
you  must  excuse  him  this  time,  Richard;  he 
loves  little  Letty,  and  it  seems  so  unmanly  to 
attack  such  a  patient  little  sufferer." 

"  He  has  no  business  to  strike  me,  Miss  Elliott," 
replied  the  boy.  "I'll  tell  the  master  to- 
morrow :  see  if  I  dofl't." 

"  I  don't  believe  that  he'll  lay  a  finger  on  me," 
said  Mark,  "  for  defending  my  little  sister ;  he's 
a  noble  man,  and  would  have  given  you  a  blow 
himself." 

"Hush,  Mark!"  said  Mary,  "you  are  too 
angry  to  talk  now ;  come,  let  us  go  home." 

^nd  as  they  walked  along,  she  tried  to  con- 
vince her  cousin  of  the  folly  of  such  rashness,  but 


34  TvOTIIING    BUT   LEAVES. 

Mark  persisted  that  he  was  right,  and  declaring 
that  if  Richard  did  it  again,  he  would  beat  him 
within  an  inch  of  his  life,  that  he  would." 

Emily  was. at  school,  and  many  an  hour  in  the 
evening  was  devoted  to  the  cousins,  who  looked 
to  Mary  for  aid  in  their  lessons. 

Seated  by  Letty  in  the  daytime,  the  cousina 
often  conversed  about  the  heavenly  home,  to 
which  the  little  girl  was  so  rapidly  travelling. 
The  translation  became  a  familiar  subject,  and 
this  sweet  communion  was  laying  up  a  store  of 
memories  to  cheer  the  household,  when  Letty 
had  crossed  the  dark  river. 

Her  favorite  remembrance  of  Bunyan's  Pilgrim 
was  Christian  in  his  passage  through  the  swel- 
lings of  Jordan,  and  many  an  echo  was  wafted 
to  the  dear  child  from  the  angels  on  the  other 
side. 

Diary — "Little  Letty  looks  so  spiritual,  her 
skin  is  becoming  so  transparent,  that  she  looks 
as  if  she  would  soon  pass  away,  and  be  at  rest. 
How  we  shall  miss  the  dear  child,  with  her 
winning  ways,  and  her  low,  musical  voice!  I 
am  sure  that  there  is  a  mansion  ready  for  her  in 
the  Master's  house.  I  must  be  very  tender  and 
attentive  to  the  little  lamb,  for  she  is  one  of  the 
liock,  I  know,  and  in  cherishing  her,  I  am  doing 
service  to  my  Master,  for  she  is  one  of  hif. 


FIRST    THE    BLADE.  35 

"AVent  last  evening  to  Matilda  Hopes,  to 
spend  the  evening — dear  Aunt  Margaret  seemed 
BO,  pleased  when  she  bade  me  'good-by,'  and  said, 
as  she  looked  at  my  dress,  the  work  of  her  own 
hands, 

" '  There,  that  will  do,  Mary ;  sometimes  there 
is  a  look  about  you  like  your  mother,  though 
she  is  dark,  and  you  so  fair.'  There  were  about 
a  dozen  present.  I  was  so  glad  to  see  Harriet 
Butler,  she  is  such  a  lovely,  unassuming  girl.  I 
suppose  that  her  pure  white  dress  and  blue 
ribbons  did  not  suit  Charlotte,  who  sat  so 
demure  in  her  dark  gray  suit,  and  hair  so  se- 
verely plain,  but  there  was  a  soft  light  in  Har- 
riet's dark  eye  that  beamed  with  meekness  and 
holy  love,  no  such  light  illumined  Chaulotte's 
face. 

"  The  conversation  was  anything  but  edifying ; 
one  had  to  tell  of  a  great  preacher,  who  had  just 
arrived  in  the  metropolis,  calling  him  '  perfectly 
divine!'  another  had  to  tell  how  much  she  had 
done  that  week  for  the  missionary  society,  a  third, 
of  her  self-denial  in  the  spending  of  her  weekly 
allowance,  a  fourth  discussed  her  neighbors,  and 
I  drew  close  to  the  side  of  Harriet  Butler,  who 
never  indulged  in  this  sort  of  talk. 

"  I  proposed  music,  and  several  of  the  young 
ladies  having  sweet  voices,  we  had  some  fine 


86  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

sacred  music,  in  the  midst  of  which  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Butler  entered.  They  are  always  so  kind  in 
their  manners,  and  engaged  my  services  for  the 
approaching  Christmas  sale.  I  can  do  a  great 
deal  at  home,  and  Letty  will  help  with  her 
knitting.  The  good  minister  is  so  happy  in 
turning  the  channel  of  conversation  profitably. 
I  always  feel,  when  I  have  passed  an  hour  in  his 
company,  that  I  have  been  with  one  who  lives 
near  his  Saviour." 

Mr.  Butler  esteemed  his  young  parishioners, 
and  remarked  to  his  wife, 

"  I  have  great  hopes  of  Mary  Elliott ;  when  she 
comes  out  on  the  Lord's  side,  we  shall  see  ripe 
fruit,  for  I  think  I  see  it  now ;  I  am  afraid,  how- 
ever, that  in  several  of  the^e  young  people,  we 
shall  see  '  nothing  but  leaves.'  I  am  always 
troubled  when  I  hear  the  tongue  so  busy  with 
mere  religious  cant,  and  Charlotte  Oliver  gives 
me  much  anxiety,  there  is  such  a  lack  of 
humility." 

The  work  for  the  Fair  goes  merrily  on.  Aunt 
Margaret,  Mary,  and  Emily  are  very  busy,  and 
little  Letty,  propped  up  in  the  cradle,  makes  her 
iron-holders,  her  dolls'  hoods  and  tidies,  while  in 
the  evening  Mark  reads  some  interes  ting  book. 

Part  of  this   work,  however,   is   for  another 


FIRST    THE   BLADE.  37 

purpose,  for  it  is  proposed  to  give   a  donation 
party  to  the  good  pastor  on  New-Year's  eve. 

Charlotte  and  Matilda  are  both  making  a 
great  noise  about  what  they  are  doing,  but 
Mary,  in  the  quiet  of  her  home,  is  accomplishing 
much  more. 

Plenty  of  leaves  in  the  profession  of  the  two, 
green,  showy,  shining ;  but  ripening,  mellowing 
fruit  in  Mary  Elliott's  daily  life ;  for  commenced 
at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  and  drawn  by  the  same 
attraction,  each  step  is  in  the  vale  of  humility. 

Mr.  Butler  has  given  notice  that  he  proposes 
to  deliver  a  course  of  lectures  on  the  Pilgrim's 
Progress,  and  Mary  hopes  that  she  may  be  able 
to  attend  upon  these  services. 

She  can  do  so  now  without  neglecting  home 
duties,  for  it  will  take  but  two  hours  once  a 
week,  Aunt  Margaret  is  much  better,  and 
equally  anxious  for  Mary  to  go.  Mark  and 
Emily  accompany  her,  and  many  a  heart-felt 
prayer  does  she  breathe  that  the  precious  truths 
may  reach  their  young  hearts. 

Deep  self-communing  follows  each  lecture,  for 
Mary  is  truly  solicitous  to  know  if  she  is  really 
treading  in  the  Pilgrim's  Path. 

Diary — "  Last   evening  we   saw  the  Pilgrim 
with   the   burden   on  his  back,  crying   out  for 
deliverance. 
4 


88  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

"  It  troubles  me,  for  I  do  not  remember  such  a 
period  in  my  spiritual  life,  sin  was  never  such  a 
burden  to  me,  perhaps  I  have  not  experienced 
that  godly  sorrow  for  sin,  but  when  he  described 
the  little  wicket-gate,  and  the  burden  falling  oft' 
at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  I  could  sympathize 
with  that,  for  a  glimpse  of  the  dying  Saviour 
at  all  times  imparts  joy  and  peace  in  believing. 
I  have  seen  enough  of  the  evil  of  sin  to  lead  me 
there,  and  can  sing, 

" '  Ever  since  by  faith  I  saw  the  stream 

Thy  flowing  wounds  supply, 
Redeeming  love  has  been  my  theme 

And  shall  be  till  I  die.' 

"What  a  picture  of  a  Christian  life  is  this 
wonderful  book !  so  descriptive  of  the  struggles 
and  trials  of  the  believer,  so  full  of  comfort,  and 
peace,  and  joy  to  the  true  disciple. 

"Mark  listened  very  earnestly,  and  Emily 
asks  me  many  questions,  when  we  get  home. 
Letty  always  looks  for  an  account  of  the 
lecture,  for  she  understands  very  much  of  the 
allegory ;  doubtless  she  is  one  of  the  little 
pilgrims  on  her  way  to  the  heavenly  city. 


LIP   SERVICE. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

JL.IP    SERVICE. 

Sarah  Oliver  is  very  sick,  Mary  drops 
in  daily  to  see  her  aunt. 

It    is    after   a    very    anxious    night 
that  we  lift  the  latch  of  the  sick  room. 

It  is  the  nursery,  close  and  uncomfortable,  for 
they  have  not  been  able  to  move  the  child  into 
another  room.  The  mother  has  a  couch  in  the 
room,  a  large  basket  of  work  is  standing  on  the 
table,  the  child  is  tossing  in  the  delirium  of 
fever,  and  two  little  sisters  are  running  about 
noisy  and  untidy. 

"  Where  is  Charlotte  ?"  asked  her  cousin. 

"  She  is  out  on  one  of  her  religious  tramps," 
said  the  mother,  "  she  had  no  time  for  a  worn-out 
mother,  and  a  sick  little  sister ;  I  don't  under- 
stand Charlotte's  religion.  She  is  very  particular 
about  the  shape  of  a  bonnet,  or  the  color  of  a 
ribbon,  shocked  at  a  burst  of  childish  laughter 
on  the  Sabbath  day,  but  has  no  heart  for  home, 
no  hand  for  a  mother  or  sister.  I  was  up  all 


40  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

night  with,  poor  little  Sarah,  while  Charlotte 
was  sleeping  to  he  prepared  for  to-day's  labor 
among  her  poor  people." 

Mary  had  not  one  word  of  excuse  to  offer, 
for  her  whole  heart  was  with  the  mother ;  but 
taking  off  her  hat,  she  offered  to  aid  her  aunt, 
and  calling  her  little  cousins,  Julia  and  Maria, 
she  washed  and  dressed  them,  made  the  nursery 
comfortable,  placed  every  thing  in  order,  venti- 
lated the  room,  and  then  seating  herself  by  Mrs. 
Oliver  said,  "Now,  aunt,  it  seems  a  little 
brighter,  don't  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear,  if  Charlotte  were  only  like  you, 
Mary,  what  a  comfort  she  would  be  to  her 
mother !" 

The  very  sight  of  the  peaceful,  happy  face 
cheered  the  weary  mother,  and  with  Mary's  help, 
they  raised  the  suffering  child,  changed  her 
garments,  washed  the  face  and  hands  in  cool 
water,  and  then  laying  her  back  upon  the  pillow, 
had  the  comfort  of  seeing  her  close  her  eyes,  and 
sink  away  into  a  quiet  sleep. 

In  the  midst  of  this  gentle  ministry,  Charlotte 
entered  with  a  look  of  weariness  and  dissatisfac- 
tion upon  her  face.  She  was  surprised  to  see 
Mary  seated  by  her  sister's  bed,  and  taking  off 
her  hat  and  mantle,  commenced  fanning  herself, 
as  if  very  weary  of  her  morning's  labor. 


LIP    SERVICE.  41 

"  I  am  so  tired,  Mary.  I  think  that  we  have 
walked  three  miles  to-day,  for  my  district  is 
larger  than  any  other,  and  we  have  so  many  to 
look  after,  that  I  really  dread  the  day  to  come. 
How  is  it,  Mary,  you  never  seem  jaded  out  as 
I  do?" 

Her  cousin  smiled.  "  Perhaps  I  do  not  work 
so  hard,  Charlotte." 

"  There  irf  something  in  that,  for  you  do  not 
helong  to  so  many  societies,  and  spend  such  a 
quiet  life  at  home,  but  I  am  never  rested ;  some- 
times I  get  really  wearied  out,  I  find  neither 
peace  nor  satisfaction  in  such  a  life.  How  is  it, 
Mary,  that  you  are  always  the  same  happy 
creature  ?" 

"  I  trust,  dear  Charlotte,  that  I  am  seeking  for 
the  spirit  of  my  Master ;  if  we  would  only  do 
his  will  day  by  day,  peace  and  happiness  must 
follow,  for  has  not  our  Saviour  said,  '  If  a  man 
love  me,  he  will  keep  my  words :  and  my  Father 
will  love  him,  and  we  will  come  unto  him,  and 
make  our  abode  with  him.' " 

"I  am  trying  to  serve  God  I  am  sure,  Mary, 
and  it  brings  me  no  peace." 

"Perhaps  you  are  not  in  the  path  of  duty, 
Charlotte;  if  so,  the  promise  is  not  for  you." 

Mary  really  pitied  the  mistaken  girl,  for  lacking 
the  free  and  loving  spirit  of  a  true  child  of  God, 
4* 


42  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

and  laboring  in  the  bondage  of  servitude,  she 
enjoyed  neither  religion  nor  the  world. 

But  ere  Mary  took  her  leave,  she  obtained  a 
promise  from  her  cousin  that  while  Sarah  was 
sick,  she  would  stay  more  at  home,  and  try  to 
aid  her  mother  in  her  heavy  cares.  Mary  had  a 
sad  account  to  give  of  the  state  of  affairs  at 
Aunt  Oliver's,  so  very  different  from  her  well- 
ordered  Christian  home. 

"  Shall  we  take  an  excursion  to-day,"  said 
Letty,  "  it  is  one  of  Mark's  holidays." 

"It  looks  a  little  threatening,"  said  her  cousin, 
"  do  you  see  those  dark  clouds  ?  I  am  afraid 
that  there  is  a  shower  there." 

"  We  need  not  go  out  of  the  village,  Mary, 
and  if  it  does  rain,  we  can  run  into  one  of  the 
houses,  they  are  all  good  to  Letty,  cousin." 

Mark  voted  for  a  trial  at  all  events,  for  Letty 
had  not  been  out  the  day  before,  and  the  fresh  air 
was  life  and  health  to  the  child. 

Starting  with  gay  spirits,  they  chose  one  of 
the  shady  streets  for  their  jaunt,  and  Letty's 
tongue  ran  on  merrily  under  the  influence  of  the 
pleasant  day,  and  the  cool,  fresh  air. 

On  their  return,  the  clouds  gathered  darkr.esa 
rapidly,  and  the  shbwer  descended. 

"  What  is  that  noise,  cousin  ?"  said  Letty, 
"I  am  sure  that  I  heard  the  cry  of  a  kitten,'* 


LIP    SERVICE.  43 

Stooping  down,  Mark  picked  up  a  poor  little 
half  drowned  animal,  that  seemed  crying  pit- 
eously  for  help. 

Seeking  shelter  in  the  nearest  house,  Letty 
took  the  shivering  kitten  in  her  arms,  and  fold- 
ing it  in  her  sacque,  tried  to  dry  the  poor 
little  thing  that  had  been  abused  by  some 
cruel  boys,  and  then  turned  out  of  doors. 

It  was  a  pretty  kitten,  with  black  and  white 
spots,  and  Letty  was  delighted  at  the  thoughts 
of  a  pet. 

As  soon  as  the  shower  was  over,  they  hurried 
home.  A  small  basket  with  some  soft  woolen 
rags  was  prepared  for  Kitty,  and  Letty  com- 
menced the  business  of  a  nurse.  She  had  a  tin 
basin  of  bread  and  milk  always  ready,  and 
under  kind  treatment  Kitty  soon»recovered  her 
health  and  beauty,  for  when  she  became  fat,  she 
was  a  soft  little  moppet,  full  of  frolic  and  fun, 
and  devoted  to  Letty;  scarcely  ever  one  was 
seen  without  the  other. 

In  all  her  rides,  Kitty  was  in  her  carriage,  she 
had  her  corner  in  Letty's  sleeping  room,  and  by 
the  side  of  her  cradle  she  played  and  romped 
and  slept  all  day. 

Is  Charlotte  learning  wisdom?  we  fear  not, 
for  having  commenced  wrong,  there  can  be  no 
ripening  fruit,  where  there  is  no  root  of  holiness 


44  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

no  union  of  the  branch  with  the  real  Vine,  and 
BO  she  went  on  her  weary  way,  "nothing  but 
leaves,  nothing  but  leaves  1"  It  is  vacation  for 
both  Mark  and  Emily,  and  Letty  enjoys  the 
season,  for  it  brings  her  so  much  into  daily 
sports  out  of  doors.  Mark  has  no  greater 
pleasure  than  to  plan  trips  for  his  invalid  sister, 
and  one  morning  at  breakfast,  brother  pleases 
the  child  by  his  plan  for  the  day. 

"What  do  you  say  to  the  lily  pond?"  said 
Mark. 

"  That  will  be  so  nice,  brother,"  said  the  child, 
for  it  was  a  favorite  resort. 

"I'll  run  down  for  Harriet  Butler,"  said 
Mary,  "and  we'll  have  a  fine  time  under  the 
green  trees." 

"  And  I'll  take  Kitty,"  chimed  in  little  Letty. 
"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  go,  Kitty  ?"  said  the  child 
to  the  frolicsome  pet,  that  was  playing  around 
the  breakfast  table. 

Kitty  mewed  in  quite  a  knowing  style,  and 
Letty  thought  that  she  was  the  smartest  kitten 
in  all  Hollyville. 

When  the  morning  duties  were  performed,  the 
party  started  for  the  lily  pond ;  Mark  drawing 
the  carriage,  Mary,  Emily,  and  Harriet  Butler 
by  turns  walking  by  the  side,  while  Letty  in  her 
clear,  sweet  tones  struck  up  the  hymn, 


LIP     SERVICE.  45 

*'  Children  of  the  Heavenly  King, 
As  we  journey,  let  us  sing ; 
Sing  the  Saviour's  worthy  praise, 
Glorious  in  his  works  and  ways." 

Their  path  was  along  a  shady  road,  bordered 
on  either  side  by  fine  trees,  then  through  a  thick 
wood,  down  to  a  pond  surrounded  by  cool 
shade  where  the  pure  white  lilies  flourish. 

On  their  way,  they  met  Charlotte  and  Matilda 
hurrying  along  to  the  cars,  for  it  was  the 
season  of  the  Anniversaries  in  N"ew  York. 

"  I  wonder  how  you  can  stay  at  home,"  said 
Charlotte,  "  when  there  are  to  be  such  grand 
speakers,  and  such  crowds  of  people." 

"  How  is  Cousin  Sarah  ?"  inquired  Mary. 

"She  is  rather  better,  but  had  quite  a  bad 
night." 

"  Who  is  with  Aunt  Oliver  ?"  inquired  her 
niece. 

"  Aunt  Martha  is  staying  with  her,  and  there 
is  no  earthly  need  of  me,  Mary." 

But  the  listener  thought,  how  grateful  a 
daughter's  presence  would  be  to  a  weary  heart- 
sick mother. 

The  girls  pushed  on — Charlotte  to  enjoy  her- 
self in  Kew  York,  and  our  little  party  to  the 
cool  waters  of  the  lily  pond,  where  the  smiles  of  a 
Heavenly  Father  rested  upon  the  bright  clouds. 


46  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

and  lit  np  the  sparkling  waters  through  the 
opening  branches  of  the  overhanging  trees. 

"  Here  is  a  nice  place  for  Letty,"  said  Mark,  as 
he  drew  the  carriage  down  to  the  borders 
of  the  pond,  under  the  shade  of  a  large  walnut 
tree. 

The  three  girls  opened  their  camp-stools,  and 
seated  by  the  side  of  the  cradle,  each  with  her 
work,  and  Letty  with  her  knitting,  it  was  a  very 
happy  party  that  sat  there,  admiring  the  fair 
pond-lilies  that  floated  with  there  pure  white 
flowers  in  their  green  lily  cups  upon  the  surface 
of  the  sparkling  water.  Kitty  was  full  of  frolic, 
and  sported  about  among  the  crisp  leaves, 
tossing  up  the  walnut  hulls  with  her  pretty 
white  paws. 

"Are  n't  the  lilies  lovely?"  said  Letty,  as  she 
watched  the  beautiful  flowers. 

"  Would  you  like  some,  Letty  ?"  said  Mark. 

"Yes,  brother,  but  I  don't  see  how  you  can 
get  any." 

"  I'll  find  a  way,"  was  the  reply,  and  in 
another  minute,  rolling  np  his  pantaloons  to 
Iheir  utmost  height,  he  was  in  among  the 
flowers  much  to  Letty 's  amusement,  and  not  a 
little  to  her  fears. 

"  Take  care,  brother,  is  not  the  water  deep  ?" 
said  the  child,  with  an  anxious  face. 


LIP     SERVICE.  47 

"  About  deep  enough  to  drown  Kitty,"  was 
the  reply,  "  suppose  I  try." 

"Xot  on  any  account — come  here,  Kitty." 
And  with  a  bound  and  a  purr  the  playful  little 
creature  was  soon  nestled  close  to  her  mistress' 
side.  She  was  pretty  well  tired,  for  she  had 
enjoyed  a  grand  game  of  fun,  and  curling  her- 
self up  into  a  comfortable  ball,  she  enjoyed  a 
sound  nap. 

Mark  soon  returned  with  a  handful  of  lovely 
lilies,  and  after  admiring  them,  they  were  care- 
fully laid  in  a  nest  of  leaves  on  the  borders  of 
the  pond,  to  preserve  them  fresh  until  they 
returned  home. 

"  Is  not  every  thing  lovely  to-day  ?"  said 
Letty,  as  she  looked  up  first  at  the  clear 
blue  heavens,  and  then  around  upon  the  sylvan 
beauty. 

"I  wonder  what  we  shall  see  in  heaven,"  con- 
tinued the  child. 

"  AVe  read,  Letty,  of  the  river  of  life,  of  trees 
whose  leaves  are  for  the  healing  of  the  nations, 
of  a  temple  where  there  shall  be  no  sunlight,  for 
the  Lamb  is  the  light  thereof." 

"  I  often  want  to  be  there,  Mary,"  said  the 
child,  "  and  I  am  so  sure  that  Jesus  loves  me, 
that  I  feel  as  if  I  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  give 
my  hand  to  him  when  I  come  to  the  deep  river 


48  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

that  'Christian'  crossed,  and  let  him  lead  me 
safely  over — come,  now,  let  us  sing  '  Jerusalem,' " 
and  the  pair  sung  in  sweet,  rich  tones  the  beau- 
tiful old  words, 

"Jerusalem,  my  happy  home, 

When  shall  I  come  to  thee? 
When  sh^ll  my  sorrows  have  an  end, 

Thy  joys  when  shall  I  see  ? 
0  happy  harbor  of  the  saints  I 

0  sweet  and  pleasant  soil ! 
In  thee  no  sorrow  may  be  found, 

No  grief,  no  care,  no  toil." 

They  sat  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  Mary 
said,  with  a  voice  full  of  feeling,  "  Shall  we  all 
meet  there." 

Mark  bowed  his  head  upon  his  hands,  and 
could  not  answer,  for  deep  thoughts  were 
stirring  the  fountains  of  his  young  soul.  Emily 
pressed  her  cousin's  hand,  and  little  Letty  said, 

"  No  one  must  be  left  out  there,  dear  cousin, 
do  pray  for  Mark  and  Emily — but  listen !  listen ! 
for  the  sweet  birds  have  joined  the  song — I  wish 
that  there  were  birds  in  heaven." 

"  What  a  strange  fancy,,  child  1"  said  her 
cousin,  "it  will  be  bliss  enough,  dear,  to  join 
our  songs  with  the  great  multitude,  who  sing 
the  heavenly  Hallelujahs*" 

They    had    passed    a    happy    morning,    and 


LIP    SERVICE.  49 

gathering  the  flowers,  the  party  turned  their 
footsteps  homeward. 

Mrs.  "VYinslow  had  prepared  Letty's  favorite 
dessert  of  cold  custard  and  cream,  and  Harriet 
Butler  stayed  to  dinner. 

."  Just  look,  mother,  at  the  sweet  lilies,"  said 
Letty,  as  she  handed  them  to  Mrs.  Winslow. 
"  Mark  was  so  good,  he  went  away  out  into  the 
pond,  just  to  gather  them  for  me,"  and  the  child 
put  up  her  arms  to  clasp  her  brother,  as  she 
pressed  a  fond  kiss  upon  his  cheek.  Sweet 
abode  of  peace  and  love!  for  Jesus  dwelt  beneath 
that  roo£ 


50  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"THEN    THE  EAR." 

'1ARY.— "The  stream  of  life  rolls  on 
very  peacefully  under  Aunt  Margaret's 
roof.  I  have  been  studying  this  heart  of 
mine  for  several  months.  These  lectures 
on  the  Pilgrim's  Progress  have  been  of  unspeak- 
able comfort. 

"  They  answer  so  exactly  to  the  Bible  and  expe- 
rience, that  I  feel  I  can  trace  their  resemblance 
in  my  own  spirit.  What  holy  mysteries  they 
teach!  Justification  by  fait h,  peace  with  God, 
access  by  faith,  rejoicing  in  hope,  the  love  of 
God  shed  abroad  in  the  heart — I  know  it  all. 
'  Thanks  be  unto  God  for  his  unspeakable  gift  1' 
I  have  watched  the  tender  blade  shooting  up, 
now  I  humbly  hail  the  ripening  corn,  as  an  evi- 
dence that  grafted  in  the  true  vine,  Christ  Jesus, 
I  may  believe  that  I  am  one  of  the  living 
branches.  I  know,  too,  something  of  the  con- 
flicts of  the  Christian,  for  while  I  delight  in  the 
law,  '  I  see  another  law  in  my  members,  warring 


THEN   THE   EAR.  51 

against  the  law  of  my  mind,  and  bringing  me 
into  captivity  to  the  law  of  sin.'  But  '  there  is 
no  condemnation  to  them  which  are  in  Christ 
Jesus.'  Blessed,  precious,  holy  truth  I  My 
trust  is  entire,  sweet,  abiding,  simply  and  only 
in  my  Redeemer. 

"  N"ow  I  may  safely  take  upon  my  soul  the 
obligations  of  the  Christian  profession,  for  I  do 
trust  that  my  spiritual  life  is  '  hidden  with 
Christ  in  God,'  so  that  I  may  hope  for  daily 
supplies  from  the  same  source  of  light,  and 
strength,  and  peace. 

United  to  Christ.  I  am  '  one  with  him,'  and 
can  '  rejoice  in  hope  of  the  glory  of  God,'  for 
*  when  Christ,  who  is  our  life,  shall  appear,  then 
shall  we  also  appear  with  him  in  glory.'" 

"I  have  just  had  a  visit  from  Mary  Elliott," 
said  Mr.  Butler  to  his  wife ;  "  she  has  been  to 
apply  for  admission  to  the  church,  and  seldom 
have  I  heard  such  a  clear,  decided  account  of 
real  spiritual  regeneration  as  she  gave  me,  and 
yet  in  language  so  simple,  so  humble,  that  I 
could  riot  but  adore  the  grace  which  has  led  her 
young  footsteps  so  safely  along." 

"  She  will  be  a  bright  light,  husband,"  said 
the  wife.  "Yes,  truly,  I  have  watched  her 
progress  for  mouths.  I  have  iiot  urged  her 


52  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

forward,  because  I  have  had  every  proof  that  the 
Spirit  is  her  teacher,  and  will  guide  her  aright. 
I  feel  that  she  is  destined  to  leave  a  mark  upon 
the  world,  and  doubt  not  that  she  will  come  out 
purified  from  every  trial." 

On  the  next  communion  day,  Mary  Elliott 
united  herself  with  the  church  of  the  Redeemer, 
and  thus  she  recorded  her  emotions  on  that  solemn 
day: 

"  "Tis  done,  the  great  transaction's  done ; 

Deign,  gracious  Lord,  to  make  me  Thine: 
Help  me,  through  grace,  to  follow  on, 
Glad  to  confess  Thy  voice  divine." 

"Yesterday  was  a  holy,  happy  day — openly 
before  the  world,  I  took  the  Lord  to  be  my  God, 
Jesus  to  be  my  Saviour,  and  his  service  to  be  my 
chief,  my  highest  joy.  As  my  lips  pressed  the 
sacred  emblems,  floods  of  peace,  and  joy,  and  love 
flowed  over  my  heart,  for  in  them  I  saw  the 
great  atonement;  I  heard  the  words,  'It  is 
finished,'  and  felt  that  I  could  say,  '  My  Lord 
and  my  God,'  and  that  Jesus  said  to  me,  '  My 
redeemed  and  chosen  child,  my  beloved  in  the 
Lord.'  Henceforth  may  my  whole  life  be  his, 
my  whole  heart  devoted  to  his  blessed  service." 

We  will  spend  an  hour  with  Mary  and  Aunt 


THEN   THE    EAR.  53 

Margaret  after  this  open  act  of  dedication  to  the 
Lord'. 

"I  should  like  so  much  to  do  something  in 
the  way  of  teaching,  aunt,"  said  her  niece ;  "  I 
cannot  leave  home  in  the  morning;  I  was  think- 
ing how  it  would  do  for  me  to  search  out  the 
most  neglected  class,  and  gather  them  here  at 
home  on  Sabbath  afternoon  ;  you  know  that  we 
have  no  church  then,  and  it  seems  just  what  I 
might  do." 

"  You  have  my  hearty  approval,  Mary,"  was 
her  aunt's  reply. 

"I  was  walking  the  other  day  with  Letty, 
down  on  the  borders  of  the  creek ;  I  had  no  idea 
that  there  were  such  numbers  of  miserable 
children,  as  I  saw  running  about  there.  There 
was  one,  whom  they  called  '  Wild  Mag,'  a  real 
vagabond  of  a  child,  and  several  others  no  better 
than  she." 

11  Not  very  inviting,  Mary,"  was  Mrs.  Wins- 
low's  reply. 

"  Xo,  dear  aunt,  not  in  the  least  romantic,  but 
would  the  Saviour  pass  such  by  if  he  were  on 
earth  ?  I  thought  of  the  poor,  disgusting  leper, 
and  remembered  Jesus'  pitying  words;  of  the 
wretched,  demoniac,  the  ragged  prodigal,  and 
Lazarus  covered  with  loathsome  sores,  and  my 
heart  went  out  at  once  to  those  neglected  ones." 

5* 


54  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

"  Begin  your  work,  my  dear  niece,  at  once,  and 
may  God  guide  and  bless  you,  Mary."  Next 
day  she  set  off  alone  to  seek  these  wild  children. 

Eacing  across  the  stepping  stones,  where  the 
waters  of  the  creek  tumbled  over  in  small 
cascades,  she  perceived  "  Wild  Mag"  and  two  or 
three  other  equally  rude  children. 

For  some  time,  they  ran  backwards  and 
forwards  screaming  and  shouting  in  their  rude 
glee,  and  did  not  perceive  the  young  lady  who 
sat  watching  them  under  the  shade  of  a  large 
overhanging  tree. 

At  length,  curiosity  led  them  to  her  neighbor- 
hood. 

"  Come  here,  Mag,"  said  Mary,  "  I  have  some- 
thing to  show  you,"  and  opening  a  book  con- 
taining a  number  of  showy  pictures,  she  enticed 
the  wild  child  to  her  side. 

"Without  shoes  and  stockings,  clad  in  a  ragged 
dress,  with  her  rough,  shaggy  hair  hanging  in 
tangled  masses  over  face  and  shoulders,  she  was 
truly  a  most  unpromising  looking  subject  for 
Mary's  benevolence. 

"  But  she  has  a  heart,"  thought  Mary,  "  and 
I  must  seek  to  awaken  its  affections. "- 

"Do  you  like  that  picture?"  said  Mary, 
pointing  to  one  representing  a  young  group  of 
children  at  play. 


THEN    THE   EAR.  55 

"  Yes,  its  rale  purty,  that  gal  in  red  is  the  one 
for  me ;  hain't  you  got  no  more,  miss  ?" 

"  Yes,  here  are  several  more,"  and  Mary  turned 
over  the  leaves,  until  she  drew  several  children 
to  her  side. 

After  showing  all  the  pictures,  she  took  out 
some  colored  cards,  and  distributing  them 
among  the  girls,  she  invited  them  up  to  her 
house  on  Sunday  afternoon,  where  she  had  a 
great  many  more  just  such  beautiful  pictures. 

"  I'll  come,"  said  Wild  Mag. 

"  And  I  too,"  said  another,  and  so  said  several 
more. 

Mary  gave  very  particular  directions  how  to 
find  her  house,  and  turning  away,  hoped  that 
she  had  gathered  a  few  recruits.  Turning  back 
for  a  moment,  she  said,  "  If  I  were  you,  Mag, 
I'd  wash  my  hands  and  face,  and  comb  my  hair ; 
the  boys  in  the  village  might  hoot  at  you,  if  they 
saw  you  in  such  a  dirty  trim." 

"We'll  do  that,  ma'am,"  answered  the  child, 
and  stooping  down,  she  said, 

"  Please,  ma'am,  let  me  pull  the  burrs  off  of 
your  dress,  you've  got  a  heap  of  them  from  the 
bank." 

"  Thank  you,  Mag,"  said  the  young  lady, 
cheered  by  this  little  exhibition  of  gratitude  on 
the  part  of  the  child. 


56  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

Mag  joined  her  companions. 

"That's  the  rale  lady,"  said  the  girl,  "she  did 
not  turn  up  her  nose  at  us,  because  we  are  poor 
and  ragged,  and  she  said,  'Thank  you,  Mag,' 
"just  as  if  I  were  a  lady  too,  this  way,  just  look, 
Rache,"  and  the  girls  all  burst  out  laughing  at 
Mag's  attempt  to  show  how  Mary  looked,  and 
how  she  bowed  her  head,  when  she  thanked  the 
child. 

Mark  prophesied  that  none  would  come,  but 
on  Sunday  afternoon,  while  seated  on  the  piazza, 
saw  the  advance,  and  came  running  in  to  Mary, 
exclaiming, 

"I  wish  you  could  just  see  what  is  coming  in 
at  the  front  gate ;  I  do  believe  that  Wild  Mag  is 
there,  Mary." 

And  sure  enough  there  was  the  ragged  girl, 
with  two  or  three  others  in  the  same  guise, 
but  Mary  perceived  that  all  had  washed  their 
faces,  and  combed  their  hair  according  to 
promise. 

Moreover,  there  was  a  most  amusing  attempt 
at  ornament,  for  each  had  a  bunch  of  thistle 
weed  and  dandelion  pinned  in  the  bosom  of  her 
ragged  dress.  This  little  act  was  very  pleasing, 
for  the  same  attempt  at  imitation  would  lead 
hereafter  to  copying  better  things.  Mary 
invited  them  into  the  sitting-room,  where  they 


THEN    THE    EAR.  57 

stared  around  at  the  simple  furniture,  as  though 
they  had  been  in  a  palace. 

The  young  lady  brought  out  some  beautiful 
Bible  pictures,  and  found  by  her  questions  that 
these  poor  children  were  lamentably  ignorant  of 
anything  connected  with  the  word  of  God. 

After  telling  them  some  of  the  simplest  truths 
of  the  Bible,  she  called  in  Mark  and  Emily  with 
little  Letty,  and  they  sang  some  of  their 
sweetest  hymns,  which  Mary  accompanied  on 
the  piano. 

The  children  were  full  of  wonder,  for  this 
was  to  them  a  new  world  indeed. 

They  had  only  heard  the  name  of  God  in  the 
language  of  blasphemy,  and  had  grown  up  with 
their  evil  hearts  untaught ;  their  wicked  propen- 
sities unchecked.  Wild  Mag  was  the  dread  of 
the  neighborhood,  for  she  had  spent  her  life 
robbing  hens'  nests  in  the  day  time,  and  poultry 
yards  at  night. 

The  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  make  the 
girls  decent.  Mary  told  them  to  come  up  next 
Saturday,  for  she  had  something  for  them,  and 
making  an  attempt  at  a  rude  courtesy,  they 
promised  to  come,  and  then  they  shuffled  away 
out  of  the  neat  sitting-room. 

Aunt  Margaret  was  much  interested  in  Mary 'a 
class,  and  together  they  manufactured  a  change 


58  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

of  decent  clothes  for  the  children.  Their  eyes 
were  opened  wide,  when  they  saw  the  nice  calico 
dress,  and  clean  checked  apron,  with  each  a  pair 
of  new  boots,  that  were  ready  for  them  when 
they  reached  Mrs.  Winslow's. 

"  !N  ow,  Mag,  I  want  you  to  be  a  decent  girl," 
said  the  young  lady ;  "  but  if  I  give  you  these 
good  clothes,  I  expect  you  to  keep  yourself  very 
clean,  to  comb  your  hair  every  day,  and  try  to 
help  your  mother  at  home." 

Mag  dropped  a  courtesy  in  her  rough  way,  as 
she  replied, 

"  Mag  will  try  just  to  please  the  lady,"  while 
her  small  dark  eyes  expressed  her  gratitude. 

In  a  few  weeks,  Mary's  class  had  increased  to 
eight  of  these  rough  children,  and  Mark  often 
peeped  in  to  see  the  progress  made. 

"  Mag  begins  to  look  civilized,"  said  the  boy, 
as  he  watched  her  passing  out  of  the  gate,  for 
the  girl  had  a  coarse  straw  hat  now,  and  had 
undergone  at  least  an  outward  reformation  under 
Mary  Elliott's  care. 

"We  will  take  another  glance  at  Mary's  inner 
life,  for  that  is  the  real,  after  all. 

Diary — "  I  wonder  if  this  is  not  the  Chamber 
of  Peace,  that  Bunyan  describes  in  his  Pilgrim. 
Life  has  been  so  happy  since  my  open  profession 
of  my  Saviour's  name. 


THEN    THE    EAR.  59 

"  I  feel  that  my  steps  are  upward  and  onward, 
all  tending  to  that  blessed  state  in  the  world  to 
come,  when  trials  all  over,  and  the  work  of 
sanctification  complete,  I  shall  be  presented 
faultless  before  the  Lord.  I  can  trust  all  to  my 
Father  in  heaven,  thus  far  he  has  been  very  good 
to  his  child. 

"  It  is  so  sweet  to  trust  him  day  by  day ;  to 
think  nothing  of  to-morrow,  but  just  .to  seek 
what  I  must  do  to-day? 

"  I  know  the  voice  this  morning,  for  Aunt 
Margaret's  pale  face  and  feeble  steps  are  calling 
me  to  her  aid. 

"  There  are  many  thing  very  necessary  in  the 
arrangements  of  a  comfortable  family.  Aunt  is 
not  able  to  attend  to  them  this  season,  so  I  must 
be  busy. 

"  There  are  the  herbs  to  gather  and  dry  for 
the  winter,  tomatoes  and  fruit  to  can,  blackberry 
syrup  to  make,  and  nobody  but  I  to  do  it  all ;  I 
am  glad  that  I  know  how.  This  is  certainly 
my  duty,  and  doing  God's  will  just  as  truly  a8 
serving  in  his  temple ;  so  no  more  time  for 
writing  this  morning,"  and  Mary  closed  her 
diary. 

1'utting  on  her  neat  kitchen  apron,  we  might 
see  her  out  in  the  garden  gathering  the  herbs 
that  were  dry  enough  to  put  away — placing  each 


60  NOTHING   BUT   LEASES. 

in  its  bag  marked  with  the  name,  they  were 
carefully  hung  up  in  the  pantry.  Then  the 
making  of  the  blackberry  syrup  occupied  the 
rest  of  the  morning,  and  Mary  sang  her  sweet 
hymns  of  inward  peace  and  joy,  as  she  attended 
to  her  household  work.  When  she  went  into 
the  pantry  and  saw  her  bags  of  dry  herbs,  and 
her  shelf  of  jars  of  blackberry  syrup  and  currant 
jelly  that  she  had  put  up  before,  she  smiled  as 
she  said  to  Jane,  "  So  much  done,  and  Aunt 
Margaret  is  saved  all  that." 

Little  Letty  rejoiced  over  the  work,  and  said, 
"  How  nice  that  is,  Mary !  the  sick  people  will 
get  many  of  these  little  jars,  I  know."  Was  not 
this  doing  God's  holy  will?  No  wonder  that 
Mary  Elliott  carried  sunshine  about  with  her 
daily  work. 


LOOKING    BACK.  61 


CHAPTER  VL 

LOOKINQ-    B.A.CIC. 

CHARLOTTE   was   visiting    Mary 
Elliott  in  her  chamber,  she  observed  a 
little  book  lying  open  on  her  table,  ic 
which  Mary  had  just  finished  an  entry. 
"  What  have  you  there,  Mary  ?"  inquired  her 
cousin. 

"  It  is  a  diary,  Charlotte,  and  a  great  help  to 
me  in  my  daily  progress ;  why  don't  you  keep 
one,  cousin  ?" 

"  What  in  the  world  should  I  find  to  write 
about?" 

"  About  the  life  within,  Charlotte ;  when  one 
is  accustomed  to  note  the  motions  of  the  heart, 
it  establishes  the  habit  of  watchfulness,  and  then 
there  are  the  records  of  a  Father's  goodness  and 
a  Saviour's  love,  cousin.  I  would  not  give  up 
my  diary  for  any  inducement." 

"  I  should  not  know  how  to  write  one,  Mary. 
I  have  so  much  more  to  do  than  you,  that  I  have 
no  time  for  scribbling,  and  as  to  the  life  within, 
3 


62  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

I  know  nothing  of  what  you  speak  of,  it  is  quite 
beyond  my  depth." 

Mary  looked  serious,  as  she  replied, 

"And  yet,  Charlotte,  there  is  such  a  life  in 
the  heart  of  every  true  Christian." 

"  Perhaps  so,  Mary,  I  don't  know." 

The  summer  flowers  have  passed  away,  autumn 
fruits  have  been  gathered,  autumn  winds  have 
stripped  the  forests  of  their  foliage,  and  winter 
with  its  keen,  sharp  northern  blasts  and  driving 
snow  storms  is  upon  the  inhabitants  of  Holly  ville, 
shutting  up  the  invalids  in  their  rooms  to 
peep  out  of  the  windows  at  the  wintry  streets, 
or  hover  round  the  warm  fireside. 

Little  Letty  is  confined  to  the  house  in  bad 
weather,  and  is  able  to  take  but  little  exercise. 
Mary  therefore  is  much  more  occupied  with  her 
cousin.  One  evening,  a  sleigh  was  heard  driving 
up  to  the  door,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Richard 
Franklin  made  his  appearance  in  the  family 
parlor. 

"  Splendid  sleighing,  Mary !"  said  the  visitor. 
"  I  have  come  down  on  purpose  to  take  you  out, 
so  be  ready  to-morrow  morning,  invite  some  of 
your  friends,  and  we  will  take  a  ride." 

Richard  was  one  who  had  been  intimate  in 
the  family  from  childhood,  and  devoted  to  Mary 
Elliot  tj  she,  too,  valued  the  friendship  of  the 


LOOKING    BACK.  68 

young  man,  for  he  had  many  sterling  qualities, 
but-still  devoted  to  the  world. 

In  company  with  Charlotte  and  Matilda  Hope, 
the  party  were  ready  to  set  off,  when  Mary 
said, 

"  Can't  we  take  in  little  Letty  ?"  for  the  child 
was  looking  wistfully  at  the  sleigh. 

"  Certainly,  get  her  ready,  she  is  such  a  wee 
thing  that  we  can  easily  find  a  corner  for  her." 

In  a  short  time,  Mary  brought  out  her  little 
cousin  well  wrapped  up  with  Kitty  in  her  arms^ 
for  she  could  not  go  anywhere  without  her  pet. 

"  We  did  not  bargain  for  puss,"  said  Richard, 
looking  very  demure. 

"  Then  I  car't  go,"  said  Letty,  "  Kitty  would 
miss  me  so  much." 

"  Come  along,  little  one,  and  bring  your  pet ;  I 
was  only  in  fun." 

And  seated  between  Mary  and  Charlotte,  little 
Letty  was  very  happy,  for  the  sound  of  the 
merry  sleigh-bells  was  exhilarating  to  the  poor 
invalid. 

Richard  entertained  the  girls  with  an  account 
of  the  amusements  of  the  city.  Opera,  ball, 
theatre,  were  each  in  turn  discussed. 

Matilda  listened  to  the  description  of  these 
fascinations,  sorry  that  she  had  not  tasted  of 
their  pleasures  before  she  had  joined  the  church. 


64  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

and  there  was  a  secret  longing  at  least  to  peep 
over  the  wall. 

Charlotte  was  open  and  severe  in  her  disappro- 
bation, and  Mary  joined  modestly  in  the  conver- 
sation. 

"Why  do  you  disapprove  of  them,  Mary?" 

"  My  reasons  are  very  simple,  Richard,  I  have 
no  desire  for  such  things ;  I  trust  that  I  enjoy 
better  and  higher  pleasures — then  there  is  a 
positive  command  to  Christians  to  come  out  from 
the  vain  pursuits  of  the  world  ;  I  conclude,  there- 
fore, that  there  is  something  to  renounce ;  if  so, 
what  is  it?  certainly  all  those  pleasures  which 
are  sinful  themselves,  or  which  are  calculated  to 
dim  the  power  of  spiritual  things." 

"What  do  you  say  to  my  going  just  once?" 
said  Matilda,  with  some  hesitation  in  her  voice. 

"  If  you  have  desires  for  these  things,  Matilda, 
your  staying  away  is  no  particular  merit,  the 
trouble  is  that  a  n  al  child  of  God  has  no  such 
tastes." 

"  Then  you  would  hint  that  I  am  not  a  child 
of  God." 

"  I  did  not  say  so,  Matilda,  but  this  I  do  think, 
that  one  who  enjoys  the  privileges  of  a  Christian 
does  not  long  for  the  pleasures  of  the  world." 

"  I  cannot  bear  to  hear  you  talk  so,  Mary," 
said  Richard. 


LOOKING    BACK.  65 

"  Why  not  ?"  replied  the  young  lady. 

"  Just  because  it  shows  that  there  is  such. 
a  broad  gulf  between  us ;  and  I  do  want  to  see 
you  a  bright  star,  Mary." 

"  A  star  in  what  world,  Richard  ?" 

"In  the  world  of  fashion  and  distinction, 
Mary." 

"  I  trust  that  I  am  shielded  from  that, 
Richard." 

Charlotte  had  listened  with  more  interest 
than  she  would  have  cared  to  acknowledge  to  the 
description  which  Richard  gave  of  the  music, 
the  splendor,  the  delight  of  these  amusements, 
and  wondered  how  it  was,  that  there  should  be 
lurking  desires  for  at  least  a  glance  at  these 
gaieties. 

Poor  girl!  the  seed  of  the  word  had  fallen 
upon  stony  ground,  where  there  was  not  much 
depth  of  earth,  it  had  sprang  up  too  suddenly, 
when  the  burning  sun  shall  come  to  scorch  it. 

Diary — "I  am  sorry  to  see  Richard  so  very- 
worldly  ;  he  is  such  a  noble,  manly  character, 
with  such  a  warm  and  generous  heart,  would 
that  he  were  a  child  of  God. 

"I  cannot  join  my  destiny  with  one  who  is 

not   truly   a   Christian,  for  he   might  lead  me 

away  from  a  holy  life,  and  we  should  lack  the 

l>ond  of  sympathy  whteh  ought  always  to  exist 

«* 


66  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

in  married  life.  I  fear  Matilda  is  really  looking 
back  with  a  wishful  eye  to  worldly  things,  for 
she  manifested  so  much  interest  in  Richard's 
account,  and  Charlotte's  expressions  did  not 
mislead  me,  for  if  I  mistake  not,  the  influence 
of  a  worldly  friend  would  soon  lead  her 
away. 

"  My  class  is  prosperous.  Wild  Mag  is  begin- 
ing  to  learn,  I  see  improvement.  Rachel  Sears, 
too,  is  softening,  but  the  rest  are  sadly  dis- 
couraging, for  I  saw  three  of  them  last  week 
running  about  just  as  wild  and  wicked  as  ever, 
but  I  must  not  stop  sowing,  for  'in  due  season  I 
shall  reap  if  I  faint  not.' 

"I  have  twelve  now.  Harriet  Butler  has 
come  to  help  me,  and  we  have  pleasant  times  in 
our  sitting-room,  while  Letty  listens  to  the 
exercise,  and  teaches  one  little  one  who  has 
strayed  in  lately.  The  sick  child  seems  to  exert 
more  influence  over  wayward  little  Nanny,  than 
with  Harriet  or  I,  for  she  shrinks  from  us,  and 
lingers  around  Letty 's  cradle,  and  so  the  child  is 
teaching  her  Bible  verses,  and  simple  hymns. 
It  is  a  pretty  sight  to  watch  the  two,  Nanny  in 
her  low  stool  by  the  side  of  the  cradle,  listening 
to  her  gentle  teacher,  and  Letty  leaning  over  to 
show  Nanny  some  sweet  Bible  picture,  and 
telling  her  story  in  such  tender  simple  tvords. 


LOOKING    BACK.  67 

The  dew  is  falling  around  poor  neglected  Xanny, 
arid- who  knows  which  may  prosper?  for  'out 
of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings.'" 

Christmas  is  approaching,  and  the  Fair  is 
daily  discussed.  A  large  number  of  articles 
have  been  sent  for  the  Winslow  circle,  and  it  is 
quite  a  great  success. 

Little  Letty  is  delighted  to  find  that  all  her 
contributions  are  selling  fast,  for  so  many  want 
something  made  by  the  little  sufferer. 

Xew- Year's  Eve  comes  round,  the  time 
appointed  for  the  donation  party. 

Through  Charlotte's  noise  and  bustle,  the  news 
has  reached  the  family  at  the  parsonage  sooner 
than  had  been  intended,  but  on  the  morning  of 
that  day,  a  committee  had  waited  upon  Mrs. 
Butler  requesting  the  use  of  the  parsonage  for 
the  evening. 

Charlotte  appeared  most  prominent,  and  had 
appointed  herself  to  preside  at  the  house  in 
company  with  Mrs.  Lacey. 

All  day  long  articles  were  arriving — groceries, 
flour,  cake,  pickles,  preserves,  ham,  tongue, 
articles  of  clothing,  books,  stationery,  household 
utensils,  family  medicines,  and  to  crown  all,  a 
purse  of  one  hundred  dollars  for  the  good  pastor. 
Several  others  ladies  came  in  the  afternoon. 


68  NOTHING'  BUT    LEAVES. 

Mrs.  Butler  and  Harriet  retired  from  the  scene 
of  action,  and  the  ladies  set  the  table,  made  the 
tea  and  coffee,  brought  out  the  delicacies 
intended  for  the  party,  and  then  invited  the 
family  to  come  to  supper. 

A  large  number  of  the  parishioners  of  all 
ranks  had  assembled,  and  partook  of  the  good 
cheer  in  company  with  the  pastor's  family. 
After  supper  had  been  cleared  away,  Charlotte 
placed  herself  at  the  head  of  the  table  in  the 
sitting-room,  where  the  donations  had  all  been 
arranged. 

In  a  most  public  and  offensive  manner, 
Charlotte  called  out  the  names  of  the  donors, 
sometimes  opening  the  bundles,  and  frequently 
adding, 

"I  got  this  from  Mrs.  Jones,  and  this  from 
Mi*s.  Brown,  and  this  from  Mrs.  Scott,"  and  at 
the  close  of  her  display,  concluded  with  the 
remark, "  the  value  of  the  whole  donation  we  have 
calculated  to  be  four  hundred  dollars."  She  sat 
down  self-satisfied,  but  little  did  she  know  how 
the  delicnte  feelings  of  her  pastor  and  his  wife 
had  been  pained  by  this  blast  of  a  shrill  trumpet. 

Mary's  contribution  was  really  valuable,  a 
handsome  gentleman's  wrapper  and  slippers, 
three  shirts  and  six  neck  ties;  from  Letty,  a 
shawl  for  Mrs.  Butler:  and  from  Aunt  Margaret, 


LOOKING    BACK.  69 

six  bottles  of  blackberry  syrup,  and  six  jars  of 
currant  jelly.  The  best  of  all  was,  that  Charlotte 
had  been  compelled  to  say  that  no  name  had 
accompanied  these  gifts,  and  Mary  had  the 
pleasure  of  whispering  to  Mrs.  Butler  at  the 
close  of  the  evening,  "  Think  of  us  when  you  use 
the  anonymous  gifts,  we  could  not  be  paraded  in 
a  manner  so  offensive  both  to  our  pastor's  family 
and  ourselves." 

Mrs.  Butler  kissed  the  gentle  girl  as  she 
replied,  "  This  is  the  sweetest  gift  of  all,  for  with 
it  comes  no  mortification,  Mary." 

The  kind  feelings  thus  promoted  far  over- 
balanced the  drawback,  for  Mrs.  Butler  felt  that 
the  party  was  a  genuine  expression  of  Christian 
feeling,  and  though  Charlotte's  obtrusive  and 
fussy  manner  of  calling  attention  to  her  own 
work  was  offensive,  yet  the  warm  glow  of  Chris- 
tian love  thus  engendered,  spread  its  mantle  over 
the  young  lady's  weakness,  and  inclined  her  to 
silence  the  whispers  that  she  heard  around  to 
Charlotte's  disadvantage. 

A  year  has  passed  by,  ard  changes  are  rolling 
on. 

Charlotte  has  held  on  her  outwaid  way  thus 
far,  but  her  zeal  is  diminishing,  and  the  religion 

O  '  O 

which  has  brought  no  inward  peace  is  losing  its 


70  NOTHING    BUI    LEAVES. 

power  over  daily  life,  for  it  had  no  deep  abiding 
root. 

She  has  been  to  the  city  to  visit  a  relation,  and 
there  has  formed  the  acquaintance  of  a  young 
man  named  George  Rogers,  very  handsome,  very 
worldly.  He  has  been  struck  by  Charlotte's 
beauty,  and  commences  his  work  of  undermining 
her  habits  by  words  of  flattery. 

"  It  is  such  a  pity  that  you  should  deform 
yourself  by  such  a  style  of  dress,"  said  the  young 
man ;  "  there  is  Helen  Woodly  that  attracts  so 
much  attention — she  has  not  one-half  of  your 
attractions,  and  she  draws  a  train  after  her  wher- 
ever she  goes,  just  because  she  knows  how  to 
dress  well ;  you  can  be  just  as  good  a  Christian 
without  deforming  yourself." 

Two  months'  residence  amid  such  influences 
left  its  mark  upon  Charlotte  Oliver,  for  when  she 
returned  to  Hollyville,  the  change  was  manifest. 

The  drab  colored  ribbons,  prim  cc  stume,  and 
plain  hat  had  all  disappeared — youthful  co  ors 
and  fashionable  dress  had  taken  their  placa 

Mary  Elliott  remembered  Aunt  Margaret's 
predictions  about  scarlet  and  feathers,  and  con- 
cluded that  she  had  been  a  wise  counseller.  It 
was  the  old  story  of  "  The  Spider  and  the  Fly ;" 
perhaps  Mary  Howitt  may  have  had  just  such 
a,  case  in  her  eye  when  she  drew  that  picture. 


LOOKING  BA:K.  71 

George  Rogers  is  frequent  in  his  visits,  and 
Charlotte  often  accompanies  him  to  the  city: 
first  to  a  concert,  then  to  the  opera,  "just  to 
hea''  the  delightful  music,  nothing  else;"  and  at 
last  to  the  theatre. 

Charlotte  has  forgotten  Mary's  simple  songs, 
by  which  she  kept  her  cousin  Mark  out  of  bad 
company,  and  is  learning  a  style  of  music,  of 
which  Mary  knows  nothing ;  but  she  is  very 
certain  sometimes  they  breathe  sentiments  which 
a  modest  woman  should  not  sing. 

"I  thought  that   Charlotte's   religion  would 

O  O 

not  last  long,"  said  her  mother,  "  it  came  with 
such  a  rush,  and  is  dying  out  just  as  fast ; 
nothing  but  a  sky-rocket  after  all." 

Aunt  Margaret  is  ordered  to  the  sea-shore, 
and,  as  it  is  the  season  of  vacation,  leaving  her 
house  in  charge  of  Jane,  the  whole  family  take 
lodgings  near  the  beach. 

To  Mary  it  is  charming — the  sight  of  the 
grand  ocean,  and  the  sound  of  its  mournful 
music  are  so  agreeable  to  her  thoughtful  mind. 

Mark  is  never  tired  of  drawing  Letty  over 
the  beach,  nor  Mary  and  Emily  wearied  of 
accompanying  her  in  these  excursions.  While 
Bhe  sits  in  her  little  carriage,  inhaling  the  pure 
sea  breeze,  and  watching  the  sea-gulls  skimming 
over  her  head,  Mark  is  gathering  the  beautiful 


72  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

sea  weed,  and  laying  the  delicate  blossoms  ir 
her  little  hand  ;  she  calls  them  the  flowers  of  the 
ocean,  and  thinks  that  she  would  like  to  take  a 
peep  at  the  lovely  flower  beds  of  the  mighty 
deep.  Then  the  bathing  is  so  delightful,  and 
does  Aunt  Margaret  and  Letty  so  much  good. 
Mark  is  strong,  and  takes  his  little  sister  in 
every  fine  day,  and  when  in  her  brother's  arms 
she  has  frolicked  long  enough  among  the 
breakers,  she  is  allowed  to  sit  upon  the  edge  of 
the  beach,  where  the  waves  wash  over  her,  and 
she  can  play  in  them  with  her  little  hands,  and 
revel  in  the  sports  of  the  bathers. 

Charlotte  and  Matilda  Hope  have  followed 
the  party ;  boarding  at  another  house,  Mary 
does  not  see  much  of  the  young  ladies.  One 
evening,  when  walking  on  the  beach,  in  company 
with  her  aunt,  a  barouche  is  seen  approaching, 
with  one  gentleman  and  two  ladies.  As  they 
pass  by,  where  Mary  is  standing,  she  perceives 
that  one  is  Charlotte  Oliver,  dressed  in  a  jaunty 
hat,  with  white  feathers,  a  handsome  opera 
cloak,  and  all  resemblance  of  the  zealous  pro- 
fessor of  Holyville  gone.  She  seemed  to  be  in  a 
state  of  high  excitement,  her  eye  bright  and  spark- 
ling, her  cheeks  glowing,  and  giddy  laughter 
gushing  from  her  lips. 

"She  is  a  beautiful  girl!"  said  Mary. 


LOOKING    BACK.  73 

"  Yes,  Mary,  out  you  see  now  A\  hut  I  have 
alwajTs  feared ;  she  placed  so  much  stress  upon 
outward  things,  and  so  little  upon  the  state  of 
the  heart,  that.  I  fear,  '  nothing  but  leaves  '  re- 
mains of  all  her  high  professions.'' 

Both  seemed  to  have  forgotten  their  vows  at 
Holyville,  for  whenever  there  was  an  evening 
hop,  or  a  gay  amusement,  both  were  present, 
and  the  "beautiful  Miss  Oliver,"  became  the 
toast  of  the  season. 

Diary — "  Seaside,  August  8th — I  can  scarcely 
realize  the  transformation  in  Charlotte  Oliver; 
and  yet  she  justifies  herself,  says  that  she  has 
found  no  happiness  in  the  strict  path  which  she 
laid  down  to  walk  in,  now  she*  is  going  to  try 
an  easier  way.  I  told  her  what  David  and  the 
apostles  had  said  about  the  blessedness  of  God's 
service,  but  she  said,  '  It  had  brought  none  to 
her,'  perhaps  she  has  never  entered  on  the  path. 
She  does  not  know  what  a  free  voluntary 
service  that  of  the  true  child  of  God  must  be. 
The  stream  is  sometimes  hindered  in  its 
passage  to  the  sea  by  rocks  and  rubbish  which 
obstruct  its  course,  take  the  hindrance  away, 
and  the  clear  sparkling  river  runs  freely  on, 
singing  its  blithe  and  merry  song.  So  with  the 
soul  of  man,  the  hindrance  is  within,  we  can- 
not force  its  action;  such  force  must  be 
7 


74  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVE'S. 

spasmodic,  fitful,  like  galvanic  action  on  the 
dead.  Remove  but  the  stony  heart  and  per- 
verse will,  then,  like  the  unbound  stream,  the 
emancipated  soul  flows  onward  through  a  rougn 
rugged  country,  until  it  reaches  the  bosom  of  its 
God.  I  thought  too  of  the  '  barren  fig-tree '  in 
the  vineyard  of  the  Lord,  when  I  listened  to 
Charlotte.  Perhaps  she  has  never  been  grafted 
on  to  the  true  Vine. 

"Dear  Lord,  guide  me,  prune  me,  watch 
around  me,  only  never  let  me  be  a  '  barren  fig- 
tree.'  " 

"Yesterday  we  went  to  the  house  of  God, 
Mark  drew  little  Letty,  and  the  dear  child 
enjoyed  the  sweet  and  soothing  service,  the 
simple  heart-touching  music,  the  fervent  prayers 
and  faithful  holding  up  of  Jesus. 

"Lctty,  in  her  little  carriage,  drew  much 
attention  to  herself,  and  a  mild  looking  lady, 
who  sat  near  her,  found  the  place  in  the  hymn 
book  and  handed  it  so  pleasantly  to  the  child  ; 
Letty  repaid  the  act  with  one  of  her  sweetest 
smiles,  and  as  the  lady  turned  away,  I  saw  her 
wipe  a  tear  for  our  little  lamb.  In  the  intervals, 
we  were  near  enough  to  the  sea  to  hear  the 
solemn  music  of  its  waves,  which  seemed  to  join 
with  us  in  praising  God. 


LOOKING    BACK.  75 

"  Charlotte  and  Matil-la  were  both  present, 
sitting  just  before  us,  but  the  former  was  light 
and  trifling,  for  George  Rogers  was  constantly 
whispering  foolish  speeches  in  her  ear,  which 
seemed  to  please  her  only  too  well.  I  could  not 
help  thinking  of  the  stony-ground  hearer,  of 
whom  it  is  said,  '  Some  fell  upon  stony  places, 
where  they  had  not  much  earth:  and  forthwith 
they  sprung  up,  because  they  had  no  deepness 
of  earth:  And  when  the  sun  was  up,  they  were 
scorched :  and  because  they  had  not  root,  they 
withered  away.'" 

"  Home  again !  the  seaside  was  charming, 
with  its  grand  expanse  of  sky,  the  music  of  its 
surging  waves,  its  lovely  beach  and  pleasant 
rides.  There  was  much  to  enjoy  in  our  summer 
trip,  but  home  is  sweeter,  dearer  still ;  and 
seated  in  my  pew  at  the  dear  old  church, 
it  was  delightful  to  feel  that  we  were  once 
more  amid  the  sacred  influences  of  a  Christian 
home. 

"Charlotte  Oliver  has  returned  too,  and 
as  yet  retains  her  profession  of  the  name 
of  Christ,  but,  alas  !  there  is  '  nothing  now 
but  leaves,'  and  Matilda  is  seldom  in  the  house 
of  God." 


NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 


CHAPTER  VIL 


family  circle  was  enlarged  by   tha 
addition  of  Mark,  who  has  left  school, 
and  is  once  more  at  home. 

Mary  and  her  cousin  are  standing 
before  his  father's  picture  in  the  parlor. 
It  was  a  fine  face,  full  of  earnest  thought,  and 
holy  saintliness.  The  deep  blue  eyes  seemed 
to  look  lovingly  upon  Mark,  as  the  two  studied 
the  portrait. 

"  I  have  thought  so  much  of  my  father  lately," 
said  Mark,  "  every  night  when  I  retire,  I  think 
of  the  conversations  in  the  library,  and  recall 
the  holy  loving  words,  until  I  can  almost  feel 
my  father's  arm  around  me,  as  it  used  to  Le, 
when  kneeling  by  my  side,  he  poured  out  his 
heart  for  his  only  son." 

"It  was  a  blessed  privilege  to  have   such  a 

father,  Mark  —  those  prayers  must  be  answered." 

"  Yes,  Mary,  I  feel  it,  for  many  a  time,  even. 

when  I  was   most   perverse,  those   holy  words 


AN    ANSWERING    FATHER.  77 

have  followed  me  for  days  together.  I  am  not 
sads-fied  with  what  I  am,  my  convictions  of 
sin  are  deep,  cousin;  like  Bunyan's  Pilgrim, 
I  carry  a  heavy  burden,  and  cannot  rest  until, 
like  him,  I  drop  it  at  the  foot  of  the  Saviour's 
cross." 

"In  your  case,  dear  Mark,  the  Interpreter 
has  preceded  your  convictions  with  a  knowledge 
of  the  way,  for  dear  uncle  was  that  guide  to 
you;  just  obey  his  teachings,  Mark,  go  to  the 
spot  where  you  have  so  often  knelt  by  your 
father's  side,  and  seek  deliverance  there?" 

"I  am  resolved,  Cousin  Mary,  for  many  a 
time  have  I  grieved  away  the  Blessed  Spirit,  who 
would  have  led  me  to  the  cross."  Mark  spent 
much  time  in  his  father's  study,  reading  his 

t<    /  O 

father's  Bible,  and  communing  with  his 
father's  God.  It  cannot  be  in  vain  for  the 
Saviour  hath  said,  '  Him  that  cometh  to  me  I 
will  in  no  wise  cast  out.'  And  so  in  the  old 
fashioned  way,  trodden  by  all  the  saints  of  God, 
by  apostles,  martyrs  and  spirits  of  the  just, 
Mark  sought  and  found  his'Saviour. 

Diary — "Mark  is  a  Christian,  I  am  almost 
certain  he  has  been  deeply  anxious  for  weeks, 
and  resting  upon  Jesus  only,  has  found  place. 
Strange  that  Mark  should  not  have  submitted  at 


78  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

once,  when-  he  knew  the  way  so  well,  hut  in 
every  case,  there  is  the  same  carnal  mind,  the 
same  high  thoughts  which  exalt  themselves 
against  God's  method  of  justifying  sinners, 
hence  the  struggle. 

"  I  have  had  a  letter  from  Richard,  the  out- 
burst of  a  warm  and  manly  heart,  but  I  cannot 
entertain  his  proposals,  for  I  believe  that  Chris- 
tians are  commanded  to  marry  in  the  Lord.  It 
pains  me  so  to  wound  his  affections,  for  I  know 
that  they  are  deep  and  true,  but  he  would  not  help 
me  on  to  heaven,  and  I  might  do  him  no  good. 

"  Letters  from  my  mother  too  have  come,  she 
describes  the  charms  of  Monte  Rosa,  the  name  of 
the  place  where  they  reside,  paints  the  elegance  iri 
which  they  live,  tells  me  about  the  room  that  I 
shall  have,  the  pleasure  that  she  is  planning,  and 
I  fear  that  some  day  I  must  leave  my  quiet 
village  home  to  go  into  the  furnace  of  worldli- 
ness  and  supers  ;ition.  But  God  is  guiding  my 
footsteps  I  am  sure,  and  whatever  is  clearly 
duty  that  must  I  do,  for  there  must  be  a  reason 
for  all  that,  and  a  shield  to  protect  me  every 
where,  if  I  only  use  it. 

"  Mark  desires  to  be  a  minister,  just  what  his 
father  prayed  for  so  long,  but  Aunt  Margaret's 
means  are  so  small,  and  lately  she  has  had  some 
losses ;  how  can  ho  be  sent  to  college  ?  Mamma 


AN    ANSWERING    FATHER.  79 

makes  me  a  handsome  allowance  for  my  ward- 
robe, I  do  not  need  the  half  of  it,  for  I  have  too 
much  already ;  I  could  appropriate  half  I  am 
sure,  if  I  only  use  some  self-denial. 

"  I  was  going  to  get  a  new  cloak  next  winter, 
but  the  old  one  is  very  good.  I  shall  only  need 
two  winter  dresses,  and  then  I  can  do  so  much 
for  Mark;  I  will  go  to  Mr.  Butler  and  ask  his 
advice." 

"  I  have  seen  my  pastor ;  he  has  told  me  about 
one  of  uncle's  most  intimate  friends,  John  Craw- 
ford— lie  is  a  wealthy  old  bachelor,  loved  my 
uncle,  and  he  thinks  will  help  his  son ;  I  am 
going  to  see  him.  but  Mark  must  not  know  my 
errand." 

"I  have  seen  Mr.  Crawford,  he  listened  so 
patiently  to  my  appeal,  and  then  said,  'I  am 
not  a  religious  man,  young  lady,  but  I  loved 
Mark  Winslow,  and  for  his  sake  I  will  help  his 
son ;  you  may  consider  me  good  for  his  educa- 
tion, if  some  way  can  be  devised  to  find  his 
books  and  clothes.' 

'"That  is  arranged  already,  Mr.  Crawford,' 
and  with  warm  thanks,  I  left  the  office. 

"  Mark  is  going,  how  faithful  our  Father 
answered  the  prayers  of  the  righteous. 


80  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

"  Mark  met  me  at  the  depot. 

"'You  are  going  to  college,  Mark,'  was  my 
first  salutation. 

" '  How,  Mary  ?  what  can  you  mean  ?'  and  I 
relate  the  story  of  my  day's  adventure. 

"'God  bless  you,  dear  cousin  Mary,'  said  the 
youth ;  *  I  never  could  have  gone  but  for 
you.' 

" '  Don't  say  so,  Mark,  God  answers  prayer, 
and  if  he  had  not  used  me,  there  would  have 
been  some  one  else,  if  he  wants  you  for  a 
minister.' " 

"  Mark  is  beginning  to  look  depressed  at  the 
thought  of  leaving  home.  Yesterday,  with 
Emily,  and  precious  little  Letty,  we  visited 
the  lily  pond.  She  is  drooping  daily,  I  don't 
believe  that  Mark  will  ever  see  her  again.  AN  e 
spend  an  hour  there  ;  Letty  was  very  serious. 

"'  Go,  bring  me  some  flowers,  Mark,'  said  the 
child,  'you  will  never  gather  any  more  for 
Letty,  and  these  will  soon  fade,  but  I  am  going, 
brother,  where  I  shall  see  brighter  things  in 
the  i^ew  Jerusalem ;  repeat  some  of  the  sacred 
ivords,  Mark ;  begin  with  Thy  gardens,'  and 
her  brother  repeated, 

"  '  Thy  gardens  and  thy  gallant  walki 
Continually  are  green, 


N   ANSWERING    FATHER.  81 

There  grow  such  sweet  and  pleasant  flowers, 

As  no  where  else  are  seen. 
Quite  through  the  streets,  with  silver  sound, 

The  flood  of  Life  doth  flow ; 
Upon  whose  banks  on  every  side 

The  tree  of  life  doth  grow. 
These  trees  forevermore  bear  fruit, 

And  evermore  do  spring  ; 
There  evermore  the  angels  sit, 

And  evermore  do  sing.' 

"  Mark  could  not  restrain  his  tears,  for  thouo-h 

'  C> 

he  was  so  certain  of  the  blessedness  of  his  little 
sister,  there  was  such  a  world  of  tender  love 
in  his  heart  for  the  patient  child,  that  he  could 
not  think  of  parting  from  Letty  without  the 
keenest  sorrow. 

"Brino-ino;   the  flowers,  he  laid  them  in  her 

O          O  ' 

hands- — drawing  Mark  down,  she  kissed  him 
fondly,  and  said, 

" '  When  I  am  away  in  heaven,  Mark,  you  will 
be  preaching  the  blessed  gospel,  and  when  the 
Lord  has  done  with  you,  Mark,  you'll  come  to 
Letty  and  then  we  shall  be  so  happy.' 

"  We  returned  home  quietly,  for  each  heart 
felt  that  the  parting  hour  was  coming." 

"  Mark  has  gone,  and  Letty  was  very  quiet 
all  day  lorg — even  little  Kitty  failed  to  interest 
her.  She  wants  many  things  that  A  ant  Mar- 


82  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

garet  cannot  give  her,  but  I  can,  by  a  little 
more  self-denial,  and  whatever  I  can  get,  that 
she  shall  have. 

"She  goes  out  every  day,  and  Emily  and  I 
take  turns  in  drawing  her  carriage.  Sometimes, 
Wild  Mag  meets  us,  and  the  grateful  child  will 
never  let  us  draw  it  when  she  sees  us.  Many  a 
sweet  little  chat  does  Letty  have  with  her  on  the 
summit  of  Mount  Pleasant,  a  pretty  hill,  one  of 
Letty 's  resorts,  or  else  beside  the  lily  pond,, 
where  we  still  go.  Her  heart  is  filled  with  love 
to  Jesus,  and  all  the  hymns  that  sing  of  him  are 
what  she  asks  for  now. 

"It  is  the  bright, joyous  spring,  and  yesterday 
Letty  asked  to  be  taken  to  the  shady  dell,  where 
the  violets  shod  their  early  fragrance.  It  is  a 
lovely  spot,  and  often  have  we  carried  the  dear 
lamb  there  to  hail  the  first  violets.  Emily  and  I 
went  with  her,  all  along  the  road  he  •  talk  was 
of  heavenly  things,  and  when  we  came  in  sight 
of  the  flower  bank,  a  bright  smile  passed  over 
her  sweet  face,  and  she  said, 

"; I  shall  see  prettier  things  than  these,  dear 
cousin,  in  the  land  where  I  am  going.' 

"'Yes,  Letty,  but  best  of  all,  you  will  see  the 
King  in  his  beauty.' 

"Turning  on  me  her  deep  blue  eyes,  she 
whispered,  'And  be  with  him  forever.'" 


AN   ANSWERING    FATHE-R.  83 

"Last  Sunday  we  all  went  to  church,  with 
Letty  in  her  carriage — the  sweet  music,  and  the 
precious  sermon  seemed  to  comfort  her.  Surely, 
the  good  pastor  remembered  our  little  lamb, 
when  he  spoke  of  the  good  Shepherd's  love  for 
his  flock. 

"  When  church  was  over,  she  said  to  me, 
*  Wait  a  while,  cousin,'  and  when  the  congrega- 
tion had  all  departed,  she  looked  round  at  each 
familiar  object,  and  said, 

" '  It  is  the  last  visit,  I  think ;  I  have  been  so 
happy  in  this  dear  house  of  God,  but  I  shall  soon 
be  in  the  church  above.' 

"  The  rays  of  the  evening  sun  streamed  in 
through  the  western  window,  lighting  up  the 
pulpit  and  shedding  some  of  his  glory  upon  the 
brown  hair  and  saintly  face  of  little  Letty.  I 
can  never  forget  the  look  which  shone  in  her 
violet-colored  eyes,  as  she  gazed  once  more  all 
around,  and  then  upward  to  the  window,  where 
the  evening  sunset  was  shining." 

"Letty  has  been  so  very  ill  since  my  last 
entry,  that  I  have  had  time  for  nothing  but  to 
minister  to  her  death  bed ;  but  she  is  with  the 
angels  now.  Such  a  peaceful,  happy  death — just 
going  to  sleep,  with  her  hand  softly  clasped  in 
mine,  and  her  head  upon  her  mother's  breast. 


84  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

Strange  to  say,  her  favorite,  little  Kitty,  would 
not  leave  the  room  while  she  was  sick,  not  even 
to  get  her  meals,  and  would  eat  nothing  when 
brought  to  her — no  place  would  suit  her  but  on 
the  bed  where  Letty  lay ;  and  the  little  pet 
seemed  to  know  that  something  was  the  matter 
with  her  little  friend,  moaning  if  taken  away, 
and  apparently  sleeping  when  on  the  bed. 
When  the  last  breath  had  departed,  we  turned 
away  from  the  sleeper  on  the  bed,  and  stretched 
out  upon  the  carpet  at  the  foot,  lay  little  Kitty, 
gone  too ;  Jane,  who  was  in  the  room,  said  that 
she  saw  the  kitten  stretch  herself  out  in  death, 
just  as  Letty's  sigh  was  uttered.  "We  laid  the 
dear  child  where  she  had  requested,  and  on  her 
grave  we  planted  the  violets  that  she  so  dearly 
loved.  She  sleeps  by  the  side  of  her  father, 
where  the  willow  droops  over  tbeir  precious 
lust ;  asleep  in  Jesus,  to  wake  with  him. 

"I  looked  at  little  Letty  in  her  coffin,  sur- 
rounded by  pure  white  blossoms,  and  praised 
God  for  her  blessed  life  and  peaceful  death,  and 
then  on  Mark  standing  by  her  side,  a  Christian 
youth,  and  thought  of  the  answer  to  a  father's 
earnest  prayers  for  both  of  these  beloved  ones — 
both  saved,  one  in  heaven,  the  other  a  pilgrim  on 
his  way  to  the  Heavenly  City. 


AN   ANSWERING   FATHER.  85 

"'Over  the  river,  the  boatman  pale    • 
.     Carried  another — the  household  pet: 
Her  brown  curls  waved  in  the  gentle  gale— 

Darling  "  Letty  I"  I  see  her  yet. 
She  crossed  on  her  bosom  her  dimpled  hands, 

And  fearlessly  entered  the  phantom  bark ; 
We  watched  it  glide  from  the  silver  sands, 

And  all  our  sunshine  grew  strangely  dark. 
We  know  she  is  safe  on  the  further  side, 

Where  all  the  ransomed  and  angels  be ; 
Over  the  river,  the  mystic  river, 

My  childhood's  idol  is  waiting  for  me. 

M'And  I  sit  and  think,  when  the  sunset's  gold 

Is  flushing  river,  and  hill,  and  shore, 
I  shall  one  day  stand  by  the  water  cold, 

And  list  for  the  sound  of  the  boatman's  oar; 
I  shall  watch  for  a  gleam  of  the  flapping  sail ; 

I  shall  hear  the  boat  as  it  gains  the  strand ; 
I  shall  pass  from  sight,  with  the  boatman  pale, 

To  the  better  shore  of  the  spirit  land  ; 
I  shall  know  the  loved  who  have  gone  before, 

And  joy  fully  sweet  will  the  meeting  be, 
When  over  the  river,  the  peaceful  river, 

The  angel  of  Death  shall  carry  me."1 


86  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

••  CTJT    IT    DO'WlSr.*' 

defection  of  Charlotte  Oliver  from 
her  comet  path  was  just  as  rapid  as 
her  eccentric  course  had  been. 

"Nothing  but  leaves"  remains  of  all 
her  high  profession — she  thinks  Mary 
"  righteous  over  much,"  and  sometimes  smiles  at 
the  odd  fancies  that  had  taken  possession  of  her. 
She  thinks  now,  that  to  gain  George  Rogers 
to  the  church,  it  is  best  to  "  become  all 
things  to  all  men."  George  smiles  at  her  sim- 
plicity, he  saw  through  the  hollowness  of  her 
profession,  and  does  not  contradict  her,  for  she 
is  in  a  fair  way  to  be  rid  of  all  her  notions,  that 
is  ail  she  needs,  he  thinks,  to  make  her  a  splendid 
woman. 

Diary — "Charlotte  is  the  wife  of  George 
Rogers — this  morning  she  took  the  vow  which 
has  introduced  her  to  a  life  of  vvorldliness.  The 
sun  is  up,  and  is  burning  out  the  last  feeble  roots 


CUT    IT    DOWN.  87 

that  shot  up  so  fast  from  the  hard,  rocky  soil. 
Her  talk  is  all  of  her  style,  her  equipage,  her 
dress,  and  the  prospect  of  an  elegant  home  in  a 
distant  land,  for  George  Rogers  talks  of  settling 
iii  Rio  Janeiro. 

"  As  I  stood  by  her  side,  I  thought  of  prim 
Charlotte  Elliott  in  her  severely  old-fashioned 
dress,  and  then  of  Charlotte  Rogers  in  her  bridal 
costume — how  vast  the  difference ! 

"  Matilda  Hope  has  gone  still  further  in  the 
path  of  spiritual  decay,  for  she  has  dropped  even 
the  profession  of  Christian  ;  her  name  has  been 
erased  from  the  church  record.  This  is,  indeed, 
one  of  the  black  days  in  the  pastor's  life,  and 
woe  to  the  backslider  who  has  cast  the  shadow ! 

"  She  esteems  all  true  Christians  as  enthusiasts 
and  fanatics,  and  spends  her  Sabbaths  in  amuse- 
ment, lounging,  and  novel  reading.  Some  stings 
of  conscience  have  disturbed  her  in  her  down- 
ward path,  but  she  tries  to  quiet  them  by  picking 
holes  in  her  neighbors'  garments,  especially  pro- 
fessors of  religion. 

"  Matilda  has  resisted  many  warnings  of  the 
Holy  Spirit  ere  she  has  reached  this  slippery 
ledge  of  the  dark  mountains,  where  her  footsteps 
may  slide  at  any  moment.  Once  she  was  in  the 
vineyard  of  the  Lord,  where  fruit  was  long 
waited  for.  Alas!  for  Matilda." 


88  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

Mary  Elliott  often  trembles  when  she  roads 
the  sentence  of  the  "barren  fig-tree" — "Cut  it 
down,  why  cumbereth  it  the  ground?"  And 
yet  Matilda  wore  giddy  smiles,  choose  giddy 
companions,  followed  the  world  and  its  pleasures 
with  her  whole  heart. 

In  the  midst  of  her  ungodliness,  she  was  sud- 
denly taken  sick,  she  knew  that  her  condition 
was  critical — remorse  and  dismay  seized  upon 
her  trembling  soul — the  sentence,  "Cut  it  down," 
was  constantly  ringing  in  her  ears,  for  it  was 
the  last  text  that  she  had  heard  from  Mr, 
Butler. 

Mary  Elliott  was  often  found  by  the  bedside 
of  the  sufferer,  and  in  the  secret  of  her' retire- 
ment poured  out  her  soul  in  prayer  for  her  former 
companion. 

"  Shall  I  bring  Mr.  Butler?"  said  her  friend. 

"  Yes,  bring  him,  Mary,  he  can  do  me  no  good, 
but  I  may  be  a  warning  to  others." 

It  was  one  of  the  loveliest  of  summer  days, 
when  Mary  passed  out  of  the  beautiful  grounds 
that  surrounded  Mr.  Hope's  residence.  The 
flowers  had  always  before  looked  so  lovely,  and 
the  wind,  murmuring  through  the  green  leaves, 
had  seemed  so  musical ;  but  now,  the  former 
seemed  to  droop  their  head,  and  the  air  was 
tilled  with  sighs,  for  Mary's  heart  was  full  of 


CUT   IT   DOWN.  89 

sorrow,  and  the  loveliness  of  nature  looked  all 
like  mockery,  while  an  immortal  being  was 
trembling  on  the  verge  of  eternity  without  hope. 

The  pastor  hastened  to  the  bedside,  he  spoke 
of  Jesus,  and  his  power  to  save  the  vilest. 
Matilda  listened  with  a  dreary  look  of  despair. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  she,  "  but  theso 
promises  are  not  for  me — let  me  tell  you  my 
story — since  I  began  to  grow  indifferent  in  the 
service  of  God,  I  have  had  many  warnings,  many 
calls  to  return,  but  I  have  stifled  them  all.  I 
made  a  vow," — and  here  her  voice  trembled, — • 
"  that  if  it  were  possible,  I  would  get  rid  of  these 
troublesome  thoughts,  and  so  I  did — it  is  long 
since  I  have  had  one  serious  thought.  I  hear  the 
gospel,  but  it  makes  no  impression — there  is  no 
faith,  no  love,  no  hope  in  my  forsaken  spirit,  and 
now  I  am  going  into  the  presence  of  God  without 
a  Saviour." 

"  God's  promises  are  to  the  penitent  of  the 
darkest  dye/'' 

"  But  I  am  not  a  penitent,  my  heart  is  dead  to 
every  thing  of  a  religious  kind." 

"  !Shall  I  pray,  Matilda  ?" 

"  You  may,  if  you  please;  I  can  listen,  but  I 
cannot  pray." 

And  while  the  good  man  poured  out  his  heart 
in  prayer,  slie  lay  with  her  eyes  n'xed  upon  the 
8* 


90  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

ceiling,  her  hands  clasped,  and  her  face  rigid  as 
iron.  Ere  he  took  his  leave,  Matilda  said, 

"  Do  you  remember  the  sermon  that  you 
preached  upon  the  '  barren  fig-tree,'  about  a 
month  since  ?" 

"  I  do,  Matilda,  it  was  a  painful  duty  to  preach 
such  a  sermon." 

"That  'barren  fig  tree'  is  myself,  Mr.  Butler; 
the  sentence  '  Cut  it  down,'  has  gone  forth." 

"  There  is  a  balm  in  Gilead,  there  is  a  physi- 
cian there ;  only  repent,  Matilda,  only  turn  to 
the  Lamb  o*  God  " 

l-  You  don't  know  how  I  have  sinned,  I  have 
ridiculed  God's  people,  derided  God's  ministers, 
spoken  lightly  of  the  Bible,  and  defied  the 
Holy  Spirit ;  there  can  be  no  pardon  for  me." 

"  The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  from  all 
sin,  Matilda." 

"  Cleanses  the  penitent,  Mr.  Butler." 

It  was  a  hopeless  case,  and  the  pastor  turned 
away  to  pray  in  secret  places,  for  he  could  not 
light  one  glimmering  ray  of  hope  in  poor 
Matilda. 

He  came  again  and  again,  but  without  suc- 
cess ;  at  last  the  mind  tottered  on  its  throne, 
and  in  this  state,  Matilda  Hope  passed  away. 

Diary — "I  have  seen  ths  last  of  poor  Matilda, 


CUT    IT    DOWN.  91 

yesterday  afternoon  we  committed  her  remains 
to  the  tomb ;  we  can  leave  her  immortal  spirit 
with  God.  for  he  is  good,  and  wise,  and  holy  in 
all  that  he  does. 

"Charlotte  heard  the  accounts  of  her  'last 
moments  with  a  serious  countenance,  somewhat 
impressed  by  the  dreariness  of  the  departing 
hours. 

"Richard  Franklin  was  here,  and  in  the 
evening  we  all  went  to  Mr.  Butler's  lecture. 

"  His  text  was  '  Grieve  not  the  spirit.'  It  was 
deeply  impressive ;  he  alluded  to  the  funeral  in 
the  afternoon,  and  repeated  the  warning  words 
uttered  by  Matilda  on  her  death-bed. 

"  Cut  it  down,  why  cumbereth  it  the  ground." 
Fearful  sentence  against  the  unfruitful  tree  in 
the  vineyard  of  the  Lord." 

"  Letters  from  Mark,  he  is  so  grateful  for  the 
ability  to  pursue  his  studies,  looking  forward  to 
the  future  with  bright  anticipations,  may  he  be 
a  true  and  faithful  servant  of  his  Master. 
Emily  is  growing  up  to  be  a  lovely  woman,  so 
gentle  and  retiring,  but  evidently  under  the 
teaching  of  God's  Spirit. 

"  My  class  is  such  a  comfort,  one  scarcely  knows 
4  Wild  Mag.'  She  is  so  anxious  to  learn,  and 
is  now  beginning  to  read  in  the  I^ew  Testament; 


92  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

there  is  much  improvement  in  several.  We  miss 
Letty's  sweet,  voice  in  our  little  circle,  and  she 
has  left  her  precious  seed,  which  is  taking  root 
in  the  heart  of  Nanny  Spear,  whom  she  tau^at 
to  read.  She  is  very  anxious  to  he  a  good  g.rl, 
and  I  think  knows  what  it  means  to  come  to 
Jesus ;  she  seems  to  love  his  name." 

"A  letter  from  my  mother;  she  has  really 
summoned  me  to  come  hy  the  first  opportunity. 
It  is  such  a  trial  to  leave  dear  Aunt  Margaret, 
Emily,  and  Mark,  my  kind  pastor,  and  the 
precious  village  church  to  go  into  a  land  of 
strangers,  where  there  is  nothing  but  world  li- 
riess  and  superstition,  my  stepfather,  a  careless 
Romanist,  my  mother  worldly,  and  devoted  to  the 
church  ;  but  I  must  go  if  it  is  my  duty ;  if  so, 
God  will  go  with  me,  and  I  must  rest  in  him. 

"I  have  just  received  an  invitation  to  visit 
my  father's  relatives;  Aunt  Margaret  thinks 
that  I  had  better  go,  before  I  leave  the  United 
States.  It  will  be  very  different  from  Holly  ville, 
for  so  many  of  them  are  among  what  are  termed 
the  progressive  order,  the  new  lights  of  this  free 
thinking  agi>." 

"Truly,  a  'new  atmosphere.'  I  have  lived  so 
long  near  the  Shepherd's  tent,  that  I  miss  his 


CUT   IT   DOWN. 

voice  in  the  morning  and  evening  prayer.  At 
Aunt  Margaret's  we  dwelt  very  near  the  dear 
Lord,  and  '  his  banner  over  us  was  love ;'  but  he 
does  not  seem  to  speak  here,  and  if  he  did,  there 
is  none  who  care  to  hear.  Here,  it  is  so  refined, 
so  intellectual,  so  cold ;  every  one  sharpening 
his  wits,  and  holding  himself  up  so  erect  in 
what  I  hear  about  continually,  the  dignity  of 
human  nature.  There,  it  was  bowing  down  so 
lowly  at  the  feet  of  the  Good  Shepherd,  always 
feeling  for  the  touch  of  his  hand,  listening 
for  the  whispers  of  his  voice,  and  counting 
that  true  dignity  which  was  farthest  off  from 
Attican  philosophy,  and  nearest  to  the  Lord. 

"  Here,  they  seem  almost  to  ignore  his  blessed 
name — there,  we  were  happiest  when  we  could 
feel  his  presence  all  the  day.  It  was  not  only 
morning  and  evening  that  we  sought  him;  it 
was  all  the  day  long — we  were  so  accustomed 
to  associate  the  name  of  Jesus  with  everything, 
that  we  might  say,  '  He  dwelt  with  us,  and  we 
with  him.'  I  mean,  however,  to  see  for  myself 
how  foolish  men  can  grow,  who  imagine  them- 
selves wiser  than  the  Lord,  and  independent  of  a 
Saviour.  Only  they  must  not  ask  me  to  waste 
my  Sabbaths,  they  are  sacred  days." 

"Last  Thursday  evening,  I  went  with  Aiint 


94  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

Loring  to  near  one  of  their  great  speakers.  It 
was  in  a  public  hall,  where  there  was  simply  a 
desk  for  the  orator,  settees  for  the  hearers,  a  few 
seats  for  distinguished  persons  upon  the  platform, 
and  a  choir  at  the  end  of  the  room.  My  aunt  did 
not  tell  me  the  name  of  the  speaker,  she  left  me  to 
discover  that  myself.  Well,  it  was  'high 
falutin,'  truly — not  a  sentence  that  poor,  simple 
Mary  Elliott  could  understand,  an  oration  about 
everything  but  the  gospel,  and  yet  this  was  one 
of  their  religious  men ;  a  wonderful  deal  about 
being  wholly  absorbed  in  God,  and  that  the 
*  Universe  itself  was  God.' 

"  Where  then  was  the  bosom  on  which  the 
beloved  disciple  leaned?  where  the  compassionate 
High  Priest?  where  the  tender,  loving  elder 
brother,  who  '  is  touched  with  the  feeling  of  our 
infirmities?'  I  must  own  that  the  tendrils  of 
this  human  heart  went  wandering  round  for 
something  real  to  clasp,  but  there  was  nothing 
in  the  empty  air  but  sound,  and  they  lay  trailing 
on  the  ground.  I  thought  of  the  fishermen  of 
Galilee,  and  longed  for  either  Matthew,  Mark, 
Luke,  or  John.  When  we  came  out,  Aunt 
Loring  asked  me  what  I  thought  of  the 
speaker.  I  replied,  first  of  all,  'Is  not  that 
,  the  great  Transcendentalist  ?' 

*' '  Yes ;  how  in  the  world  did  you  know  it  ?' 


CUT    IT    DOWN.  95 

"'Just  by  his  high-flown  style,  sailing  far 
above  the  heads  of  his  hearers,  and  certainly 
never  reaching  their  hearts.' 

"I  am  told  that  such  lectures  are  delivered 
here  on  Sabbath  days,  that  odes  are  sung  instead 
of  hymns,  and  that  social  reform,  political  ques- 
tions, woman's  rights  frequently  form  the  themes. 
Truly  was  I  reminded  of  the  ancient  Athenians, 
'  who  spent  cheir  time  in  nothing  else  but  either 
to  tell  or  to  hear  some  new  thing,'  substituting 
vain  philosophy  for  the  teachings  of  Jesus,  the 
great  world  reformer.  They  are  here,  too,  in 
this  nineteenth  century  of  the  world,  and  the 
wonder  is,  that  surrounded  as  we  are  by  gospel 
light,  any  one  could  turn  away  from  this  to  the 
twilight  of  human  philosophy." 

"  Last  evening,  I  was  invited  to  meet  a  party 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen  at  the  house  of  Mr. 
Astlcy,  one  of  the  new  lights  of  this  modern 
Athens.  There  were  authors,  poets,  public 
speakers,  and  some  divines,  choice  spirits,  I 
suppose ;  and  little  Mary  sat  in  a  corner,  quite 
confounded  by  the  glitter  of  wit  and  eloquence. 
The  ladies  brought  their  knitting,  and  many  of 
them  were  extremely  interesting  in  appearance ; 
but  there  was  such  an  exhibition  of  smartness, 
and  such  a  dictatorial  ex-cathedra  manner  of 


96  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

uttering  their  sentiments,  that  I  wondered  again 
about  the  modest  decorum  of  St.  Paul's  women  in 
the  Gospel.  '  But  he  was  an  old  bachelor,  full 
of  notions,  quite  behind  this  progressive  age,  and 
might  learn  much  of  the  new  lights  it  he  were 
here  in  this  land  of  knowledge.'  This  is  a 
common  speech  among  the  new  lights  of  these 
days. 

"There  was  a  small,  retiring  lady  in  a  corner 
of  the  room,  who  seemed  to  stt  very  much  apart 
from  the  rest,  and  I  inquired  her  name. 

"'Martha  Elwood,  the  sister  of  one  of  our 
orthodox  divines,'  was  the  reply,  and  as  soon  as 
I  could,  I  sought  an  introduction  to  the  lady. 

"She  was  a  bright,  intelligent  young  person, 
extremel y  modest,  and  only  a  listener  like  my- 
self in  this  intellectual  assembly. 

"'Can  you  tell  me  where  to  find  the  real 
gospel  ?'  said  I ;  '  I  am  a  stranger  here,  and  know 
not  where  to  look  for  an  evangelical  minister.' 

" '  Do  you  mean  any  particular  sect  ?'  inquired 
she. 

" '  ISTot  here,'  was  my  reply, '  for  I  have  become 
so  hungry  and  thirsty,  that  any  faithful  preacher 
of  the  cross  would  be  acceptable.' 

"'I  will  call  for  you.  on  Sunday  next.' 

"'I  have  been  listening  all  the  evening,'  said 
I, '  to  these  philanthropists  and  so-called  Chris- 


CUT    IT    DOWN.  97 

tians,  but  not  one  word  about  the  Master  lias 
ever  reached  my  ears.  I  wonder  if  some  of  them 
do  not  think  that  Christ  himself  was  capable  of 
improvement.' 

"  Miss  Elwood  smiled.  '  You  will  hear  some 
strange  things  in  this  new  atmosphere,'  said  she, 
*  very  hard  for  a  Bible  Christian  to  receive.' 

"  The  characters  of  great  men  were  dissected 
with  a  freedom  and  sharpness  that  surprised  me, 
and  even  women  applied  the  knife  to  the  lives 
and  motives  of  those  who  followed  in  the  foot- 
steps of  the  Saviour  of  mankind." 

"  Last  Sunday,  Martha  Elwood  called ;  we 
passed  by  several  large  and  elegant  churches, 
and  she  named  the  ministers  as  we  proceeded.  I 
wondered  why  we  did  not  stop  at  several,  for  I 
knew  that  eloquent  preachers  declared  the 
doctrines  of  the  cross  in  their  pulpits.  At 
length  we  turned  into  one  of  the  humble  streets 
in  a  poor  district  of  the  city.  We  enteied  as 
the  congregation  were  singing, 

"'  There  is  a  fountain  filled  with  blood, 

Drawn  from  Emmanuel's  veins, 
And  sinners  plunged  beneath  that  flood 
Lose  all  their  guilty  stains.' 

I  joined  the  humble  worshippers,  and  my  heart 
went  out  in  love  to  them,  as  I  took  my  seat  at 


98  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

length  to  listen  to  the  old  story  of  redeeming 
love,  told  in  warm,  glowing  language  by  a 
youthful  minister  of  the  cross. 

u  The  heart  tendrils  trailed  no  more,  for  they 
had  found  something  to  clasp  for  their  support. 
I  was  at  home — here  was  'the  unity  of  the 
Spirit  in  the  bond  of  peace,"  and  I  rejoiced  in  its 
blessedness,  hoping  one  day  to  realize  its  fulness, 
when  the  '  church  militant'  becomes  the  '  church 
triumphant.' 

Uklt  is  my  brother,'  said  Miss  El  wood,  when 
the  services  had  ended.  I  did  not  ask  by  what 
sectarian  name  he  was  known,  I  only  felt  that 
here  was  a  branch  of  the  true  Catholic  Church, 
and  that  here  the  secret  of  true  progression  was 
understood;  for  many  in  this  humble  church 
were  to  be  hereafter  '  kings  and  priests  unto 
God'  in  the  everlasting  Kingdom  —  that  is 
dignity  enough  for  redeemed  mortals,  such  OH 
proud  philosophy  scorns.'' 

"  Last  Wednesday,  I  went  with  Aunt  Loring 
to  hear  another  great  reformer,  but  his  attempts 
to  demolish  the  Christian  structure  by  substi- 
tuting his  own  wisdom  were  simply  ridiculous. 
I  thought  of  Samson,  who  drew  down  the  temple 
upon  himself,  and  saw  a  like  fate  for  these  false 
leaders. 


CUT   IT   DOWN.  99 

"  Fortunately,  I  had  heard  Uncle  Winslow  and 
Mr.  Butler,  and  the  shafts  fell  harmless.  Two 
ladies  sat  upon  the  platform,  great  lecturers,  and 
one  arose  at  the  close,  and  delivered  a  short 
harangue  on  freedom  of  speech.  I  thought  of 
old-fashioned  St.  Paul  again,  who  bids  the 
'women  keep  silence  in  the  churches.' 

"'Well,  Miry,'  said  my  aunt,  'what  do  you 
think  of  our  great  apostle  ?' 

" '  Apostle !  aunt !'  said  I,  '  what  can  you 
mean  ?' 

" '  He  is  our  apostle  of  freedom  and  equal 
rights,'  replied  my  aunt. 

" '  I  have  such  a  different  system  of  ethics, 
aunt,  that  it  would  be  quite  impossible  for  me  to 
admire  such  presumption.' 

"'Why  presumption,  Mary?' 

" '  Because  such  men  think  themselves  wiser  than 
God,  and  under  this  delusion  have  really  become 
fools ;  for  do  they  not  set  themselves  up  above 
inspired  men.' 

"  And  yet  among  these  people  we  find  benevo- 
lence, integrity,  and  uprightness,  much  that  is 
lovely  in  domestic  life ;  but  I  must  not  be  misled, 
for  did  not  our  Lord  say  of  just  such  a  young 
man,  and  one  whom  he  loved:  'One  thing  thou 
lackest.'  I  have  seen  much  in  this  refined  city 
to  admire,  but  nothing  car  compensate  me  fa* 


100  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

the  \\  ant  of  love  for  our  dear  Lord,  and  confor- 
mity to  his  holy,  blessed  will. 

"I  have  seen  much  of  Martha  El  wood,  she  is 
a  devoted  Christian,  active  in  all  good  works; 
through  her,  I  have  found  a  circle  of  followers 
of  the  Saviour — they  are  not  called  by  my 
earthly  name,  but  there  is  '  one  Lord,  one  faith, 
one  baptism,'  and  these  maintain  the  elements 
of  that  simple,  holy  faith ;  and  no  where  have  I 
met  society  so  elevated,  as  among  the  cultivated 
spiritual  Christians  of  the  modern  Athens." 

"  I  am  going  to-morrow.  I  know  that  Aunt 
Loring  thinks  me  an  innocent  little  enthusiast ; 
my  cousins  pity  me  as  a  hopeless  devotee  of  a 
wornout  faith,  that  needs  reforming;  but  the 
thought  of  my  simple-hearted,  humble  Aunt 
Margaret,  and  precious  Emily,  the  faithful  pastor 
of  my  youth,  and  the  dear  village  church  fills 
my  heart  with  joy,  and  I  bless  God  for  the  prov- 
idence which  cast  my  lot  at  Hollyville,  instead 
of  refined  and  cultivated  Athens,  where  so  much 
of  semi-infidelity  prevails." 

"At  Holly ville  once  more,  but  the  joy  of 
return  is  saddened  by  the  intelligence  that 
Charlotte  and  Mr.  Rogers  sail  for  Rio  Janeiro  in 
a  few  weeks,  and  my  time  must  be  spent  in 


CUT   IT   DOWN.  101 

preparing  for  a  separation  from  these  beloved 
friends." 

Mary  is  very  much  occupied  in  these  prepara- 
tions for  a  change  of  climate.  At  length  the 
time  of  departure  draws  near.  She  has  placed 
her  class  under  the  care  of  Harriet  Butler,  to  be 
transferred  to  the  Sunday-school.  Her  aunt  is 
especially  commended  to  the  care  of  her  pastor. 
John  Barlow  and  William  Brown  are  on  a  visit 
to  the  garden,  for  they  have  never  neglected  it 
yet.  Mary  joins  them  among  the  vegetables. 

"You  will  not  forget  my  aunt,  John,"  said 
the  young  lady ;  "you  will  look  after  her  affairs 
when  I  am  gone." 

"  You  may  trust  us,  Miss ;  she  is  a  good 
friend  to  us,  and  we  shall  never  neglect  her." 

Mark,  too,  has  come  home  to  say  farewell.  A 
visit  to  Lotty's  grave,  to  the  lily  pond,  and  the 
violet  dell  are  among  the  last  acts  of  Mary  Elliott. 

A  blessing  from  her  faithful  pastor,  tearful 
aclieux  from  the  wife  and  daughter,  and  it  only 
remains  to  take  a  last  look  at  the  home  of  her 
childhood. 

Aunt  Margaret  is  deeply  pained  at  the  thought 
of  parting,  but  her  confidence  in  Mary's  piety  is 
unshaken.  She  remembers  the  picture  in  Pil- 
grim's Progress,  where  the  man  is  seen  behind 
9* 


102  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

the  wait  pouring  in  oil  to  keep  the  flame  alive, 
which  floods  of  water  poured  in  by  the  evil  oue 
cannot  extinguish ;  neither  will  Mary's  piety  die 
out,  for  she  is  truly  of  that  nuniher  whom  this 
allegory  so  powerfully  describes,  and  whom  the 
Saviour  thus  represents — "  My  sheep  hear  my 
voice,  and  I  know  them,  and  they  follow  me: 
And  I  give  unto  them  eternal  life ;  and  they 
shall  never  perish,  neither  shall  any  mail  pluck 
thorn  out  of  my  hands." 


VANITY   FAIR.  105 


CHAPTER  IX. 

VANITY 


fIARY—  "On  board  ship.  —  Life  has 
flowed  on  in  such  a  gentle  stream  at 
dear  old  Hollyville,  I  scarcely  knew  how 
tranquil,  until  I  feel  it  fading,  and  see  in 
the  future  the  real  conflict  which  is  to  try  my 
faith.  With  a  fair  wind,  our  vessel  is  rapidly 
leaving  my  native  shore  ;  the  clear  features  of  the 
landscape  are  dwindling  away  ;  the  hroad  bay 
widening  into  the  grand  ocean,  which,  with  the 
bright  expanse  above,  are  fllling  up  my  vision. 
Beyond  the  dim  line  that  marks  the  port  which 
we  have  so  recently  left,  I  imagine  the  shady 
streets,  the  green  trees,  the  pleasant  homes  of 
Holly  ville.  The  parsonage  once  seemed  only  an 
humble  country  home,  but  in  memory's  eye  it 
looks  lovely  now,  for  it  contains  the  friend  and 
pastor  of  my  youth.  The  dear  old  home  of  my 
childhood  looks  as  it  never  did  when  I  was  one 
of  its  inmates  —  those  lovely  trees,  that  smooth 
green  lawn,  that  old  pear-tree  by  Letty's  window, 


104  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

where  the  wrens  sang  their  sweet  morning  songs ; 
how  plainly  do  I  see  them  all ! 

"  It  is  morning  now,  breakfast  is  jnst  over,  and 
Aunt  Margaret  is  moving  about  with  her  quiet 
footstep  in  her  household  duties.  I  see  the  band 
of  dark  brown  hair,  with  its  few  silver  threads 
under  her  widow's  cap,  the  deep  thoughtful 
eyes,  and  the  sweet  smile  always  resting  around 
her  mouth. 

"She  is  attending  to  my  work  now,  for  I 
always  washed  the  breakfast  things,  and  gave 
orders  for  the  day.  I  wonder  how  she  will  bear 
her  increased  cares;  but  Emily  is  growing  up 
very  fast,  she  will  leave  school  next  term,  and  I 
hope  will  be  all  that  her  mother  needs.  My 
heart  longs  with  a  sickening  feeling  for  these 
precious  relations,  but  we  are  speeding  on ;  the 
line  has  faded  on  the  horizon,  the  waves  are 
widening  and  deepening  in  their  graceful 
billows  ;  there  is  a  mournful  sound  of  plashing 
waters  against  the  vessel,  which  rocks  gently  in 
the  swelling  ocean. 

"How  sweet  the  sense  of  security  in  this  vast 
expanse  of  water,  as  I  listen  to  the  lullaby  of 
the  waves,  for  with  it  I  hear  the  voice  of 
God. 

"How  magnificent  the  Psalm  readi  here, 
which  speaks  of  the  mighty  sea ! 


VANITY    FAIR.  105 

"'For  he  commandeth,  and  raiseth  the  stormy 
wind,  which  lifteth  up  the  waves  thereof. 

" '  They  mount  up  to  the  heavens,  they  go 
down  into  the  depths. 

" '  He  maketh  the  storm  a  calm,  so  that  the 
waves  thereof  are  still. 

" '  Thy  way  is  in  the  sea,  and  thy  path  in  the 
great  waters,  and  thy  footsteps  are  not  known." 

" '  Held  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  I  am  as  safe 
here  as  on  the  land,  for  Jesus  is  my  refuge,  and 
my  strength.'" 

"  Out  at  sea. — 1  can  scarcely  realize  the  change 
in  Charlotte,  wholly  under  the  influence  of  her 
husband,  she  seems  almost  to  be  forgetting  that 
she  ever  called  herself  a  Christian.  '  Hold  Thou 
me  up,  and  I  shall  be  safe ;  keep  me  from  vain 
confidence,  dear  Lord.' 

"  She  avoids  all  spiritual  conversation,  for  her 
thoughts  are  all  of  the  earth." 

"  We  are  in  sight  of  land.  I  see  the  moun- 
tains of  South  America,  and  the  rich  coloring  of 
tropical  foliage;  doubtless  I  shall  be  in  a  land 
of  physical  beauty,  the  moral  atmosphere  is 
what  I  fear,  but  God  my  Father  is  there,  the 
Saviour,  the  Holy  Spirit  are  there  with  all 
who  really  are  the  Lord's. 


106  NOTHING    BUT   LEWES. 

"  We  are  entering  the  Bay  of  Rio,  so  cele- 
brated for  its  beauty,  almost  rivalling  the  Bay 
of  Kaples,  so  the  captain  says. 

"There  is  something  protruding  above  the 
water;  ah!  it  is  the  fin  of  a  shark,  but  here  is  a 
more  agreeable  sight!  hundreds  of  small  sea- 
gulls whirling  in  the  sunshine.  What  are  those 
tall  stately  trees  ?  palm  trees,  fine  specimens  of 
tropical  vegetation,  and  in  bold  relief.  We  are 
coming  in  sight  of  three  mountain  islairls, 
Pai,  Mai,  Menina.  Father,  mother,  child. 

"  We  are  now  in  a  bay  of  islands,  for  there  are 
seventy,  and  so  beautiful  we  might  almost  call 
them  '  the  islands  of  the  blessed.'  We  have  a 
glimpse  of  the  city  with  its  tall  spires  and 
windows  glittering  in  the  morning  sun.  Hills 
every  where  crowned  with  churches  and  con- 
vents. It  has  been  said,  'if  angels  lived  with 
men,  they  could  not  have  finer  sites  for  dwellings 
than  have  the  monks  and  nuns  at  Rio.' 

"  One  is  especially  worthy  of  notice,  which  the 
captain  pointed  out  as  the  Gloria  Hill,  where 
the  land  shoots  out  into  the  bay,  and  on  its 
crest  stands  a  church  dedicated  to  '  Our  Lady  of 
Glory.' 

"  The  people  regard  these  churches  on  the  hills 
as  so  many  mediators  between  ,  arth  and  heaven, 
and  believe  the  safety  of  the  city  intimately  con- 


VANITY    FAIR.  107 

nected  with  the  protection  afforded  by  the 
prayers  and  fastings  of  these  '  saints  of  the  hills.' 
The  back  ground  of  Rio,  and  up  the  bay  as  far 
as  one  can  see  are  nothing  but  sky  and  moun- 
tains, peaks  behind  peaks  rising  in  the  distance. 
"VYe  are  now  in  full  view  of  the  city  which  is  to 
be  my  future  home." 

The  vessel  has  touched  the  shore,  and  a  fine- 
looking  man  of  middle  age,  with  rich,  olive 
complexion,  and  all  the  marks  of  a  Portuguese, 
seems  to  be  in  search  of  some  one.  Mounting 
the  deck  of  the  vessel,  he  asked  for  Mr.  Rogers. 

It  is  Mary  Elliott's  stepfather,  the  Senor 
Santos. 

"Is  this  my  daughter?"  said  the  gentleman, 
advancing  to  Mary. 

"I  am  Mary  Elliott — is  this  the  Senor  dos 
Santos?" 

"  The  same ;  we  are  not  strangers,  young  lady. 
I  am  not  the  Senor  to  you,  but  papa,  always ; 
shall  it  be  so  ?" 

"  Just  as  you  will ;  it  is  a  very  pleasant  sound ;" 
and  Mary  had  no  reason  to  regret  the  compact 
thus  sealed. 

"  But  come,  let  us  hasten  home,  your  mamma  is 
waiting  anxiously." 

Exchanging    cards    with    Mr.    Rogers,    and 


108  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

thanking  him  for  his  care  of  his  daughter,  she 
was  conducted  quickly  to  an  open  barouche,  and 
soon  found  herself  rolling  rapidly  along  through 
a  lovely  country.  Flowers  of  rich  tropical  hues 
bloomed  in  profusion  by  the  roadside,  birds  of 
splendid  plumage  sang  upon  the  trees,  and  all 
along  the  road  they  passed  the  houses  of  gentle- 
men engaged  in  business  in  the  city.  They  were 
not  remarkable  for  beauty,  generally  two  storied 
buildings ;  balconies  at  the  upper  windows  were 
general,  enclosed  with  lattice-work. 

The  Seiior  named  several  residents  as  they 
passed  the  houses. 

"You  will  have  plenty  of  society,"  said  the 
gentleman,  "  for  we  are  intimate  with  most  of 
these." 

"  Are  there  any  English  or  American  families 
here?" 

"Oh,  yes,  several ;  there  is  the  English  minister, 
Mr.  Austin,  he  is  a  very  fine  gentleman,  and  the 
family  of  Mr.  Blount,  the  Consul,  and  a  number 
of  American  merchants;  but  here  we  are!"  said 
the  Senor,  stopping  at  the  most  beautiful  villa  on 
the  road.  The  house  was  a  large  two  storied 
building,  with  balconies  encircling  both  stories, 
and  in  accommodation  to  the  taste  of  bia 
American  lady,  the  Senor  had  made  an  inno- 
vation on  old  customs,  and  dispensed  with 


VANITY    FAIR.  109 

"gelosias,"  "for,"  said  the  Senhcra,  "I  could 
never  bear  to  be  shut  up  inside  of  that  gloomy 
lattice-work,  I  should  grow  melancholy,  I  am 
sure." 

Situated  in  the  midst  of  grounds  most  taste- 
fully laid  out,  with  its  front  terraces,  its  winding 
paths,  rich  shrubbery,  and  rare  flowers,  its  pavil- 
ions, its  fountains,  all  indicated  the  wealth  of 
its  owner.  Mary  thought  of  "  the  lust  of  the 
flesh,  the  lust  of  the  eye,  and  the  pride  of  life," 
as  she  surveyed  the  luxuriant  home,  and  in 
another  minute,  led  by  the  Senor,  mounted  the 
terrace,  entered  the  house,  and  was  soon  folded 
in  her  mother's  arms,  who,  in  company  with  her 
brother  and  sister,  met  her  in  the  drawing-room. 
After  the  excitement  of  the  first  meeting  was 
over,  the  Senhora  called  Mary  to  her  side. 

"  Sit  by  me,  my  daughter,  I  want  to  look  at 
you  ;  very  like  your  father,  Mary,"  and  the  lady 
was  evidently  pleased  by  the  scrutiny. 

For  she  is  now  an  interesting  girl  of  twenty-one, 
small  and  gracefully  formed,  not  so  beautiful,  as 
lovely.  An  expression  of  holy  purity  rests  upon 
hnr  face ;  rich,  brown  hair,  deep,  thoughtful  grey 
eyes  full  of  expression,  and  a  complexion  rather 
p;tle. 

"  Quite   in    the    Madonna   «tyle ! '    said    the 
S?nor  to  his  lady. 
10 


110  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

Mary  looked  upon  lier  mother  with  admiring 
eyes,  for  though  faded,  she  was  still  beautiful — 
lustrous  dark  eyes,  glossy  black  hair,  regular 
features,  she  might  almost  have  passed  for  a 
Portuguese  lady,  were  it  not  that  the  complexion 
was  fair,  instead  of  the  rich  olive  of  the  natives. 
Her  figure,  which  wras  symmetry  itself,  was 
clad  in  fine  cobweb  muslin,  richly  trimmed  with 
real  lace,  and  enveloped  in  a  black  lace  shawl, 
which  she  wore  with  a  peculiar  grace.  On  her 
delicate  fingers  glittered  diamonds  of  the  first 
water,  and  a  pin  of  the  same  costly  gem  fastened 
the  throat  of  her  dress.  Notwithstanding  this 
beauty,  Mary  was  pained  to  see  so  many  marks 
of  fragile  health  about  her  mother,  for  the  color 
on  her  cheek  was  variable,  the  neck  somewhat 
attenuated,  and  the  breath,  as  it  moved  the  thin 
mualiu  covering  of  her  chest,  came  and  went  in 
short,  quick  motions. 

Lion  was  a  beautiful  boy  of  twelve,  and  Viola 
a  swreet  child  of  eight,  each  with  the  dark, 
tender  eyes,  black,  glossy  hair,  and  rich  com- 
plexion of  their  father. 

They  received  their  sister  with  a  childish 
welcome  of  delight,  and  seating  themselves  near 
to  Mary,  quietly  scanned  the  new  comer,  won- 
dering with  childish  curiosity  how  they  should 
like  her,  and  deciding  very  quickly  that  they 


'  But  come,  my  dear."    Page  111. 


VANITY    FAIR.  Ill 

should  love  Sister  Mary,  who,  in  her  turn,  was 
delighted  to  find  that  she  could  converse  with 
her  little  brother  and  sister,  for  her  mother  had 
taught  them  English. 

The  rooms  on  the  lower  floor  were  all  com- 
municating with  windows  reaching  to  the  floor, 
hung  with  fine  lace  curtains ;  floor  covered  with 
matting;  light,  airy  furniture,  suited  to  a  tropi- 
cal climate;  a  fountain  playing  in  the  central 
room ;  flowers  adorned  the  verandah,  and  at  the 
end  of  the  suite  of  rooms  was  a  conservatory, 
filled  with  the  richest  and  rarest  plants. 

"  But  come,  my  dear,"  said  the  mother,  "  you 
must  he  tired ;  I  will  show  you  to  your  room/' 
and  leading  the  way,  she  was  conducted  to  a 
chamber  on  the  second  floor,  opening  also  on  a 
verandah,  which  enclosed  that  part  of  the 
grounds,  where  a  fountain  played  beneath  her 
window ;  from  another  window  there  was  a  view 
of  the  lovely  bay,  for  the  house  was  on  an 
eminence,  and  named  Monte  Rosa.  The  cham- 
ber was  tastefully  furnished  with  delicate  colors, 
that  were  particularly  grateful  in  the  warm 
climate  of  Rio ;  a  small  room  adjoined  her  own, 
where  her  maid  was  to  sleep. 

"  Here  is  your  young  lady,  Papita,"  said  the 
yenhora,  and  a  young  colored  girl  courtesieU 
respectfully  to  Mary. 


112  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

"  You  must  get  rested  in  a  few  days,"  said  th« 
mother,  "  for  a  great  many  dinner  parties  are 
waiting  for  you  among  people  of  the  highest 
rank  in  the  place." 

"I  hope  that  I  shall  not  be  compelled  to 
accept  all,"  said  Mary,  "  a  retired  life  suits  me  so 
much  better." 

"  You  will  not  neglect  the  claims  of  your 
father's  friends,  Mary,  I  am  sure ;  but  you  had 
better  rest  now ;  we  dine  at  five  o'clock,"  and  the 
lady  closed  the  door. 

The  trunks  had  just  arrived,  and  Papita  asked 
to  have  them  opened.  She  busied  herself  in 
putting  away  the  contents  in  a  wardrobe  and 
bureau  that  stood  in  the  room,  and  when  Mary 
had  rested  brought  out  what  she  supposed 
suitable  for  dinner,  but  which  the  young  lady 
had  designed  for  great  occasions.  It  was  her 
silk  dress,  pearl-colored,  and  very  simply 
trimmed. 

"  Do  not  bring  that,  Papita,"  said  Mary,  "  that 
is  my  best  dress,  and  only  intended  to  weai  vvhea 

I  £ro  out." 

~  • 

The  maid  looked  greatly  surprised. 

"  Only  one,  Donna  Mafia,  why  the  Senhora 
has  a  dozen,  arid  always  wears  silk  for  dinner; 
what  shall  I  get  ?" 

"  There  is  a  lilac  lawn  that  will  answer." 


VANITY   FAIR  113 

Fapita  smiled  as  she  replied, 

"  The  Senhora  will  not  be  pleased." 

But  arrayed  in  this  simple  costume,  Mary 
appeared  at  dinner,  where  several  gentlemen 
had  joined  the  family,  for  they  seldom  dined 
alone.  The  Senhora  arrayed  in  her  costly  silk, 
looked  disapprobation  at  Mary's  modest  apparel, 
and  took  occasion  to  whisper, 

"  You  need  transforming,  my  daughter ;  where 
are  your  fan  and  gloves,  Mary  ?" 

"  I  have  no  fan  but  a  palm-leaf,  and  I  did  net 
know  that  I  must  wear  gloves." 

"  You  must  be  taught  better,"  and  the  Senhora 
turned  aside  to  introduce  her  daughter  to  several 
Portuguese  gentlemen,  who  evidently  scrutinized 
the  appearance  of  the  young  lady. 

The  table  was  elegantly  laid,  the  dinner 
service  of  rich  china,  heavy  plate  and  glass ;  two 
colored  waiters  served  the  company,  and  the 
etiquette  observed  embarrassed  Mary,  who  had 
never  in  all  her  life  been  associated  with  people 
living  in  such  elegance,  but  observing  what 
others  did,  she  followed  their  example,  save  in 
the  free  use  of  wine,  which  even  the  children 
were  allowed. 

No  blessing  was  asked  at  her  mother's  table, 
but  Mary's  bowed  head  and  mere  touching  of 

the  wine  glass  with  her  lips  attracted  attention, 
10* 


114  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

and  drew  down  upon  her  some  severe  remarks 
when  the  guests  had  retired  to  the  smoking- 
room. 

"  These  peculiarities  are  unpleasant,"  said  her 
mother,  "  and  I  desire  that  you  will  not  repeat 
them ;  you  can  be  thankful  without  parading  it 
before  others ;  and  a  glass  of  wine  will  not 
hurt  you;  these  things  are  pharisaical,  Mary." 

"  I  will  do  nothing  to  offend  you,  mamma,  if 
I  can  help  it,  but  asking  a  blessing  on  my  meals 
I  regard  as  a  Christian  duty,  and  ought  to  set 
the  example." 

Mary  was  surprised  to  see  her  mother  smoke 
a  cigaritta  after  dinner,  and  when  offered  one, 
begged  to  be  excused,  but  when  urged  to  try 
one,  she  laughingly  yielded  to  mamma,  for  this 
she  regarded  as  one  of  the  small  things  that  she 
might  innocently  do,  although  it  was  really 
unplesant,  and  made  her  slightly  sick. 

On  retiring  for  the  night,  Papita  was  ready  to 
assist  her,  and  Mary  perceived  that  a  priedieu 
and  a  crucifix  had  been  placed  by  the  side  of  her 
bed,  with  candles,  and  a  picture  of  the  Virgin 
hanging  on  the  wall. 

"  I  do  not  need  these,  Papita,"  said  the  young 
lady ;  "you  had  better  remove  them." 

"  Not  need  them !"  said  the  maid,  with  hands 
uplifted,  and  consternation  written  upo*.  her 


VANITY   FAIR.  Il5 

face,  that  looked  as  if  Mary  were  indeed  a 
heathen. 

"  Why,  do  you  never  pray  to  the  blessed 
Virgin,  Donna  Maria  ?" 

"  No,  Papita,  I  pray  to  ray  Father  in  heaven, 
through  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  he  hears 
my  prayers." 

"  I  am  so  sorry  to  find  that  you  are  a  heretic, 
Donna  Maria,"  and  the  girl  crossed  herself 
devoutly  as  she  spoke. 

"Don't  distress  yourself,  my  good  girl,  my 
hopes  of  heaven  are  all  sure  and  steadfast ;  you 
may  pray  to  the  saints  and  the  Virgin,  Papita, 
but  I  am  contented  with  my  faith  in  Jesus 
only" 

"Poor  young  lady!  I  wish  that  our  good 
father  Benediceto  could  talk  to  you  ;  but  I  will 
ask  him  to  pray  for  you,  Donna  Maria." 

Mary  heard  Papita  murmuring  the  words  of 
prayer  long  after  she  had  composed  herself  to 
rest,  and  supposed  that  the  poor  girl  was  beseig- 
in«;  the  whole  calendar  of  saints  in  her  behalf. 

O 

In  the  morning  the  offensive  articles  were 
removed,  and  Papita  reported  faithfully  in  the 
kitchen  and  elsewhere  the  sacrilege  committed 
by  the  new  comer.  Danger  was  in  the  house. 
and  a  fresh  supply  of  amulets  was  in  demand  for 
the  household  of  the  Senor  dos  Santos  to  protect 


116  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

them  from  contagion.  Mary  had  shown  her 
colors  at  once,  and  now  it  remained  for  her 
faithfully  yet  meekly  to  defend  them. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning  the  Senhora 
visited  Mary  to  examine  her  wardrobe. 

"  Is  this  all  ?"  said  the  lady,  "  one  silk  dress, 
four  trumpery  lawns,  three  white  muslins,  two 
bareges,  and  three  chintz  wrappers !  What  in  the 
world  do  you  expect  to  do  with  these  ?"  holding 
up  one  of  the  plebeian  chintzes. 

"  Wear  them  to  breakfast,  mamma,"  was  the 
reply. 

•'  Give  them  to  Papita  at  once,"  said  the  lady ; 
w  none  in  our  house  wear  chintz  but  our  servants. 
Mary,  how  is  it  that  you  have  such  a  miserable 
wardrobe  ?  I  thought  that  I  made  you  a  hand- 
some allowance." 

"  I  think  that  I  have  a  very  large  supply, 
mamma.  Aunt  Margaret's  means  were  limited, 
and  for  the  last  year  I  have  denied  myself  to  buy 
Mark's  clothes  and  books ;  he  was  so  anxious  to 
become  a  minister." 

A  frown  lowered  on  the  Senhora's  face,  and  she 
replied  with  a  sneer, 

"  And  so  our  money  has  been  going  to  support 
a  heretic  from  the  true  church  to  make  a  poor, 
miserable  country  priest." 

"  Dou't  talk  so,  mamma ;  don't  you  remember 


VANITY   FAIR.  117 

Uncle  Winslow  ?  he  was  a  country  minister,  but 
where  was  there  a  holier,  better  man." 

u  He  was  a  heretic,  Mary,  and  nothing  else." 
"You  did  not  think  so  always,  mamma." 
"  iNo ;  I  have  learned  a  great  many  things  in 
South  America  that  I  never  knew  before ;  but 
we  will  drop  this  subject  for  the  present,  and 
return  to  yonr  wardrobe ;  you  will  mingle  in  the 
very  best  society  here,  Mary,  and  your  dress  will 
be  according  to  that.     I  shall  send  orders  to  the 
city  to-day,  and  Madame  Le  Vert  will  send  one 
of  her  aids  to  fit  your  dresses." 

Accordingly,  a  servant  was  despatched  with 
orders,  two  handsome  silks  were  selected,  three 
embroidered  grenadines,  and  three  elegant  French 
muslins,  Mary  only  being  allowed  to  choose  colors, 
and  to  beg  that  the  trimmings  might  be  moderate, 
such  as  became  her  simple  tastes.  A  handsome 
hat,  a  lace  mantilla,  a\\  elegant  fan,  and  some 
articles  of  jewelry  were  added.  In  the  midst  of 
the  discussion,  Mrs.  Rogers  was  announced,  and 
was  deeply  interested  in  the  business  of  the  day. 
Her  eye  rested  upon  the  most  expensive,  and 
ordering  several  to  her  own  residence,  she  con- 
sulted the  Senhora  upon  the  fashions  of  Rio 
with  so  much  energy,  that  Mary  could  not  but 
remember  the  prim-looking  devotee,  who  had  so 
often  in  former  days  attacked  her  simple  apparel. 


118  SOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

.But  downward  steps  are  rapid  when  the  first 
has  been  taken. 

When  Charlotte  had  taken  leave,  the  Senhora 
took  a  chair  near  her  daughter,  and  with  a  severe 
countenance  said, 

"I  was  much  displeased,  Mary,  to  find  you 
had  ordered  those  symbols  of  our  holy  reli- 
gion removed  from  your  room ;  if  you  did  not 
intend  to  use  them  yourself,  you  might  have 
paid  some  respect  to  them  in  the  presence  of 
your  maid." 

"I  do  not  want  to  appear  in  a  false  light, 
tnamma ;  I  am  a  decided  Protestant." 

Diary — "  What  a  complete  transition  from 
the  world  of  sweet  communion  with  the  good 
and  holy,  to  Vanity  Fair,  for  there  I  am.  Such 
a  whirl  of  excitement  around  me  all  the  time. 
Watchfulness  must  be  my  talisman,  prayer  my 
refuge — here  is  every  thing  to  dwarf  the  life  of 
piety  in  the  soul.  There  are  some  things  which 
I  am  obliged  to  do,  that  I  would  not  choose,  but 
guch  as  do  not  affect  my  duty  as  a  Christian ;  I 
must  yield  to  my  mother ;  but  there  are  others 
which  I  must  resist,  with  face  set  as  a  flint 
against  conformity  with  the  practices  of  a  sinful 
world  It  wili  cost  me  trial,  perhaps  suffering, 
but  I  must  not  shrink. 


VANITY    FAIR.  119 

"  I  think  of  Christian  in  Vanity  Fair,  kept  by 
the  power  of  faith  pure  in  the  midst  of  tempta- 
tion. So  may  I  be  preserved  near  my  Saviour. 
The  comforting  lectures  on  the  Pilgrim's  Progress 
recur  so  often — the  thought  of  the  man  behind 
the  wall  secretly  pouring  in  oil  while  the  evil 
one  was  endeavoring  to  extinguish  the  flame 
comes  always  up  with  such  cheering  power. 

"Poor  mamma!  so  frail,  holding  life  by  a 
thread  so  slender,  I  tremble  for  her,  for  she 
seems  wholly  wedded  to  her  new  faith.  I  see 
no  Bible  in  her  room,  but  plenty  of  Eoman 
missals  and  books  of  devotion,  lives  of  the 
saints  with  accounts  of  their  miracles.  I 
wonder  how  a  Protestant  could  ever  be  beguiled 
by  such.  I  suppose  that  her  desire  to  please 
the  Senor  operated  at  first,  but  now  she  is  the 
devotee,  and  he  is  careless." 

A  first  Sunday  in  South  America.  There 
had  been  a  late  party  on  Saturday  evening ;  long 
after  twelve  o'clock,  Mary  heard  them  laughing 
and  talking  in  the  drawing-room,  for  she  retired 
at  ten.  Consequently,  all  were  late  next  morn- 
ing, Mary  arose  very  early,  and  after  reading 
her  Bible  and  prayer,  she  seated  herself  by  the 
window,  that  looked  out  upon  the  lovely  pros- 
pect. The  charming  bay,  the  morning  sun 


120  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

shining  on  the  fresh  green  islands,  the  pictur» 
esque  hills  all  around,  crowned  with  their 
churches  and  convents,  the  numerous  bells 
ringing  to  matims  all  reminded  Mary  that 
though  in  a  country  where  natural  beauty 
smiled  every  where,  moral  twilight  was  etill 
resting  upon  those  neighboring  hills ;  she  learned, 
alas!  hereafter  that  even  twilight  had  not 
dawned.  She  looked  with  longing  eyes  upon, 
the  spires  glittering  in  the  sunshine,  and 
wondered  if  there  were  not  one  little  humb'e 
church  among  them  all,  where  she  might  ap- 
proach her  Father  through  One  Mediator. 

The  house  was  still  very  quiet,  and  she 
descended  to  the  garden  to  inhale  the  fresh 
morning  air.  The  windows  of  the  sleeping 
rooms  were  still  closed,  and  after  awhilf  the 
servants  were  seen  issuing  from  the  house  on 
their  way  to  early  mass. 

Papita  was  among  them,  and  Mary,  calling 
her,  asked  where  she  could  find  a  Protestant 
Church?" 

"Indeed,  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  maid, 
crossing  herself,  who  either  could  not,  or  would 
not  tell. 

After  breakfast,  the  Sefihora  announced  her 
intention  of  going  to  church  with  the  children, 
saying  to  Mary, 


VANITY   FAIR.  121 

"  You  can  take  a  seat  in  the  carriage ;  there 
is  plenty  of  room." 

"  Excuse  me,  mamma,"  was  the  mild,  but  firm 
reply  ;  "  I  cannot  go." 

"You  are  very  obstinate,  Mary,"  said  the 
lady ;  "  I  do  not  think  that  your  religion  has 
made  you  very  respectful  to  your  mother." 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  replied,  "  I  do 
not  mean  to  be  disrespectful,  mamma,  but  my 
principles  hold  me  back." 

"  Do  as  you  please,  there  be  will  no  force  ex- 
erted; come,  children,  it  is  time  to  go."  And 
dressed  in  the  costume  of  a  Portuguese  lady,  with 
her  lace  mantilla  drawn  over  her  head,  the  three 
entered  the  carriage,  and  drove  off  to  the  church 
of  St.  Sebastian. 

The  Senor  seldom  went  with  his  lady,  for  he 
was  a  very  undevout  Catholic,  an  intelligent 
man,  and  had  seen  much  to  shock  good  sense 
and  morality  in  this  community.  So  in  wrappers 
and  slippers,  with  newspapers,  cigars,  iced 
wines  and  sherbet,  he  seated  himself  in  a 
luxurious  chair,  in  the  smoking  room,  while 
Mary  sought  the  quiet  of  her  chamber. 

A    sudden    impulse   seized   her  to    seek   for 

herself    the   Protestant   chapel.     She    was    not 

aware  of  the  old  Moorish  notion  of  seclusion, 

which  shut  up  females  from  public  gaze  in  this 

11 


122  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

Portuguese  city,  and  rendered  it  quite  inde- 
corous for  a  lady  to  be  seen  any  where  in  public 
without  an  attendant. 

Quietly  arraying  herself  for  a  walk,  she 
started  on  her  journey,  inquiring  the  way  as 
she  went  along,  for  she  had  learned  the  Portu- 
guese name  for  the  English  chapel.  She 
observed  that  many  looked  after  her,  making 
strange  exclamations  in  Portuguese,  but  inno- 
cent Mary  still  traveled  on.  The  streets  were 
alive  with  human  beings,  with  carts,  teams, 
and  pannier-mules,  gangs  of  slaves  bearing 
the  furniture  of  moving  families.  All  were 
busy  as  on  other  days. 

She  passed  many  ladies  wrapped  in  their 
mantillas,  with  but  one  eye  visible,  attended  by 
their  slaves,  who  walked  behind  each  with 
prayer  book  and  kneeling  cushion,  on  her  way 
to  church,  glancing  with  wonder  at  the  strange 
sight  of  a  young  lady  alone,  and  unveiled  in 
the  public  streets.  She  had  not  gone  far  into 
the  city  before  Pedro,  the  waiter,  came  hurrying 
after  her. 

"  The  Senor  has  sent  me  to  bring  you  home, 
Donna  Maria,"  said  the  man. 

"  Why,  I  am  going  to  chapel,"  said  Mary. 

"  It  is  not  the  custom  here  for  ladies  to  go  out 
alone — do  come  home;  the  Senor  will  be  very 


VANITY   FAIR. 

angry ;  another  time,  I  will  take  you  myself  in 
the  children's  volante." 

And  Mary  was'  obliged  to  turn  back  with 
Pedro. 

"You  must  not  do  this  again,"  said  the 
Senor ;  "  young  ladies  never  go  out  alone." 

"  You  will  excuse  me  this  time,  I  hope,  papa," 
was  the  reply.  "  I  am  ignorant  of  your  customs 
yet,"  and  Mary  made  the  Senor  laugh  at  the 
account  which  she  gave  of  her  adventures  as  she 
went  along,  inquiring  in  broken  Portuguese  for 
the  English  chapel. 

"We  expect  company  to  dinner,  Mary.  I 
hope  that  you  will  dress  accordingly." 

And  in  obedience  to  her  papa's  request,  she 
selected  one  of  her  new  silk  dresses,  which  had 
arrived  the  night  before.  Thus  arrayed,  she 
appeared  at  the  table,  where  a  large  party  of 
ladies  and  gentlemen  had  been  invited  to  meet 
the  stranger 


124  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVER 


CHAPTER  X. 

RIT5E   -WITH    THE 


—  "How  my  weary   spirit  longa 
for  the  sweet  shelter  of  Holly  ville  —  the 
perfume.of  its  piety  is  with  me  still  —  but 
this  worldly  atmosphere  dims  the  blessed- 
ness that  I  knew  while  there. 

"  Yesterday  was  my  first  Sunday  in  this  barren 
land.  No  Sabbath  services,  no  house  of  God. 
There  was  a  party  invited  to  dinner  to  meet  me. 
The  ladies  were  very  beautiful,  and  elegantly 
dressed,  the  gentlemen  polite  and  attentive  to 
the  stranger.  Though  I  could  not  understand 
the  language  of  the  company,  I  judged  the 
conversation  to  be  frivolous  in  the  extreme, 
from  the  laughter  which  accompanied  it,  and 
feared  that  it  was  profane,  for  I  am  almost 
certain  that  I  heard  the  sacred  name  of  '  Jesu  ' 
lightly  spoken  by  many  of  the  party. 

"  After  dinner,  drinking  of  wine  and  throwing 
bread  pellets  consumed  an  hour,  the  gentlemen 


A  RIDE  WITH  THE  CHILDREN.       125 

then  retired  to  the  smoking  room  with  their 
cigars,  and  the  ladies  regaled  themselves  in  like 
manner  with  their  cigarittas.  Charlotte  and 
her  husband  were  among  the  invited  guests,  she 
had  accommodated  herself  very  speedily  to  the 
customs  of  the  place,  for  dressed  in  the  height 
of  Portuguese  fashion,  she  joined  heartily  in 
laughing  at  the  frivolous  conversation,  and  the 
giddy  revelry  seemed  to  suit  her  spirit  well.  I 
thought  of  Hollyville,  and  my  heart  was  full  of 
sadness.  I  suppose  that  my  face  betrayed  my 
feelings,  for  Charlotte  caught  myeye  once  while 
throwing  pellets,  and  did  not  look  towards  me 
again. 

"  After  a  while,  one  of  the  ladies  opened  the 
piano,  and  entertained  the  company  with  some 
very  fine  music,  but  not  suited  to  the  sacred 
day.  Papa  asked  if  I  could  sing,  to  which  I 
replied,  '  Yes,  but  not  upon  the  Sabbath.' 

U'A  little  Puritane,  I  suppose,'  said  one  of 
the  ladies,  who  could  speak  English. 

"  Then,  the  priest,  who  had  been  one  of  the 
party,  proposed  a  visit  to  the  cock-pit,  for  he 
had  brought  his  game  chicken  with  him — even 
the  ladies  followed  to  see  what  they  termed 
the  fun  between  the  Senor  and  priest's  game 
chickens.  I  could  endure  no  more,  but  watch- 
ing my  opportunity,  retired  to  my-  room,  where 
11* 


126  NOTHINO   BUT   LEAVES. 

I  remained  until  all  had  departed.  In  the 
evening,  I  am  sure  that  I  heard  dancing  in  the 
drawing-room.  Oh!  for  wisdom  to  guide  me, 
for  I  must  be  singular,  if  I  would  be  one  of  the 
peculiar  people  of  the  Bible. 

"  My  mother  was  greatly  displeased.  The  Senor 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  he  said,  '  It  will  not 
do,  young  lady,  you  must  give  up  a  few  of  your 
notions.' 

"  Mamma  was  severe  in  the  expression  of  her 
anger. 

"*  You  are  making  yourself  ridiculous,  Mary,' 
Baid  she,  '  when  you  are  in  Rome,  you  must  do 
as  Romans  do.' 

" '  "What  then  becomes  of  the  spirit  of  Christi- 
anity, mamma  ?'  I  asked. 

" '  I  want  to  hear  no  more  of  such  nonsense, 
the  ladies  will  think  my  daughter  ignorant  of 
all  the  rules  of  politeness,  if  invited  on  purpose 
to  meet  you,  you  see  fit  to  absent  yourself  for 
hours  from  their  society;  Mrs.  Rogers  acts  like 
a  lady.' 

"  I  must  watch  and  pray,  for  I  am  in  the  midst 
of  danger ;  this  is  truly  Vanity  Fair." 

Next  day,  Mary  rode  out  with  the  children  in 
their  volante  to  a  favorite  resort  about  five  milea 
«£ 


A  RIDE  WITH  THE  CHILDREN.       127 

Their  ride  was  through  a  charming  country, 
so  different  from  any  thing  at  home ;  for  luxu- 
riance characterized  vegetation  every  where,  and 
the  climate  rendered  the  insect  world  equally 
prolific. 

The  children  were  affectionate,  talkative  little 
creatures,  and  entertained  their  sister  with 
accounts  of  the  various  sources  of  amusement 
which  were  to  be  enjoyed. 

"You  will  be  here  at  the  carnival  I  hope, 
sister,"  said  Leon.. 

"I  think  it  likely,  my  dear,  for  mamma 
wishes  me  to  remain  with  her." 

"  We  have  grand  times  I  can  tell  you ;  we 
ride  up  and  down  the  street  in  all  kinds  of 
funny  dress,  the  ladies  masked,  and  the  people 
from  the  windows  pelting  us  with  bags  of  sugar 
plums,  starch  balls,  and  perfumed  water;  all 
kinds  of  musical  instruments  are  heard,  penny 
trumpets  and  large  horns ;  I  declare  it's  a  perfect 
bedlam,  and  every  body  seems  half-crazy." 

"  What  is  it  for,  Leon  ?" 

"  The  people  expect  the  long  fast  of  Lent,  and 
BO  we  have  the  carnival  to  make  up  for  our 
penance." 

"  Mamma  is  going  to  give  us  a  fancy  ball  in 
carnival  week,"  said  Viola ;  "  all  the  little  boys 
»nd  girls  that  we  know  will  be  invited.  I  am 


128  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

going  to  be  dressed  like  a  flower-girl,  and  Leon 
like  a  Spanish  Don.  What  will  you  wear, 
sister?" 

"I  don't  go  to  fancy  balls,  Viola,"  replied  her 
sister. 

Viola  opened  wide  her  dark  eyes,  as  she 
inquired,  "  "Why  not,  sister  ?" 

"  Because  I  think  that  it  is  a  foolish  waste  of 
time  and  money,  and  because  I  have  no  love  for 
such  things." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  grove, 
in  the  midst  of  which  stood  a  pavilion  for  the 
entertainment  of  visitors. 

There  were  orange  trees,  the  banana,  the 
tamarind,  and  the  rich  mango — beds  of  gor- 
geous flowers,  and  superb  fountains  scattered 
through  the  grounds,  which  were  tastefully  laid 
out. 

Coming  out  upon  an  open  space,  Leon  pointed 
in  the  distance  to  a  mountain  slope,  above  which 
towered  ranges  of  lofty  mountains,  some  of 
which  were  snow-capped. 

"Papa  has  a  cottage  there,"  said  the  boy, 
"  and  when  the  weather  gets  very  warm,  we  go 
up  there,  and  stay  for  a  few  weeks." 

"  Do  you  like  to  go  ?"  said  Mary. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  we  take  servants,  and  company, 
and  music,  and  have  a  gay  time." 


A  RIDE  WITH  THE  CHILDREN.       129 

"  Leon,  do  you  ever  think  why  God  has  placed 
us  in  this  world  ?"  said  Mary. 

"  I  suppose  to  enjoy  ourselves,"  said  the  boy ; 
"  that  is  all  that  the  people  here  eeern  to  think 
about." 

"You  know  that  we  all  have  souls,  Leon." 

"  Yes,  sister,  the  priest  tells  us  about  them, 
and  the  church  takes,  care  of  them  ?" 

"  How  is  that,  Leon  ?" 

"  Why,  wThen  we  are  little  babies,  we  are  all 
baptized,  and  that  makes  us  Christians ;  when 
we  are  older  we  are  confirmed,  and  then  we  take 
the  sacrament ;  we  all  have  our  guardian  saint, 
and  we  pray  to  her  and  the  Blessed  Virgin; 
when  we  commit  sin,  we  confess  to  the  priest, 
do  penance,  and  he  absolves  us  from  our  sins ;  if 
we  only  continue  good  Catholics,  when  we  die 
we  shall  go  to  purgatory,  and  then  when  our 
sins  are  all  purged  away,  we  shall  go  to  heaven 
at  last." 

"Do  you  ever  read  the  Bible,  Leon?" 

"No,  Mary,  mamma  says  that  we  cannot 
understand  it,  but  that  the  priest  will  teach  us 
what  we  ought  to  do,  and  we  must  let  the 
.Bible  alone,  for  it  may  disturb  our  faith." 

"  I  will  tell  you  one  verse  of  the  Bible,  Leon. 
•The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  from  all 


130  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

Leon  sat  still  for  a  moment,  and  then  Mary 
inquired,  "  Do  you  go  to  school,  Leon  ?" 

"  No,  sister,  mamma  has  a  priest  to  teach  us. 
I  don't  like  him,  because  he  is  so  cross ;  I  wish 
that  mamma  would  get  another  teacher." 

"  I  have  a  great  deal  of  time,  children,  I  wish 
mamma  would  let  me  teach  you." 

"  That  would  be  so  nice,"  said  Viola,  "  you 
would  not  scold  us,  would  you,  sister?  and  then 
we'd  learn  so  much  faster ;  I'll  ask  mamma  as 
soon  as  we  get  home." 

On  their  way  back,  Leon  pointed  to  a  convent, 
whose  brown  stone  towers  looked  so  gloomy 
above  the  high  walls  that  surrounded  the  build- 
ing ;  one  of  those  monasteries  that  sheltered  the 
"  saints  of  the  hills." 

I  want  to  take  you  there,  Mary,"  said  Leon, 
"there  is  such  a  good  nun  living  there — sister 
Clarice ;  she  makes  the  most  beautiful  flowers 
out  of  shells  that  look  like  small  pearls,  and 
some  out  of  beetles'  wings,  that  look  just  like 
emeralds  and  rubies." 

"  Mamma  has  a  set,"  said  Viola,  "  and  she 
often  wears  them  in  her  hair." 

"  Don't  you  think  that  the  nuns  must  be  very 
good,  Mary,  to  give  up  this  beautiful  world,  and 
shut  themselves  up  in  that  dark  convent  just  to 
serve  God  ?" 


A  RIDE    WITH    THE    CHILDREN.  131 

"  Are  you  sure  that  is  serving  God,  Leon  ? 
the  Bible  says,  *  Let  your  light  so  shine  before 
men,  that  you  may  glorify  your  Father  which 
is  in  heaven.'  now,  Leon,  their  light  cannot 
shine  through  those  dark  and  gloomy  walls." 

"  The  priest  says  that  they  are  holy  women," 
said  Leon,  "  and  very  happy  too ;  I  don't  know 
how  it  is,  but  the  priest  says  so." 

"  If  they  are  so  happy,  Leon,  and  like  to  stay, 
why  do  they  have  those  high  stone  walls,  those 
iron  bars,  and  bolts  and  grating  ?" 

Just  then  Leon  called  out,  "  Stop  the  carriage, 
Pedro,  I  want  to  get  some  of  these  flowers,"  and 
stepping  out,  he  gathered  a  bunch  of  the  lovely 
amaryllis  and  fuschia,  and  placing  them  in 
Mary's  hand,  asked, 

"  Have  you  such  beautiful  flowers  at  home?" 

"  K"o,  Leon,  ours  are  much  more  delicate ;  pale 
blue,  and  pink  and  lilac  mark  our  spring  flowers  ; 
our  autumn  flowers  are  of  richer  colors,  but  will 
not  compare  with  the  brilliant  hues  that  are  so 
common  here;  still,  Leon,  there  is  a  dell  at 
home  where  the  sweet  violets  bloom,  and 
a  lily  pond  where  the  pure  white  blossoms  float 
in  their  bright  green  cups,  that  I  would  rather 
see  just  now  than  the  richest  glories  of  this 
luxuriant  clime." 

"  Why,  Mary  ?"  inquired  the  boy. 


132         NOTHING  BUT  LEAVES. 

"  Because  they  are  at  home,  Leon." 

As  soon  as  the  children  entered  the  house, 
they  flew  to  their  mamma  with  the  request  that 
Mary  might  teach,  them. 

She  was  pleased  and  flattered  by  the  idea  that 
Mary  was  willing  thus  to  use  her  time,  and  said, 
"  Are  you  sure  that  you  will  not  grow  weary, 
Mary?  the  children  are  very  tired  of  Father 
Ambrose,  and  I  am  glad  to  make  a  change." 

"  I  love  to  teach,  mamma,  I  am  accustomed  to  a 
very  active  life,  and  I  do  not  think  that  I  should 
soon  grow  tired." 

"  Do  you  know  how  high-tempered  these  little 
Portuguese  are  ?" 

•"  I  have  heard  so,  mamma,  but  they  are  warm 
hearted  and  affectionate  ;  I  am  not  afraid." 

Accordingly,  in  another  week,  the  priest  was 
dismissed,  and  the  children  installed  in  a  room 
next  her  own  as  daily  pupils. 

She  found  that  Leon  had  decided  musical 
talent,  Viola  a  passionate  love  of  drawing  ;  these 
were  their  recreations,  and  with  these  she  com- 
menced her  labors. 

Neither,  however,  liked  study,  and  when  they 
found  that  sister  Mary  had  a  system  that  must 
be  followed,  for  some  time  they  were  bent  upon 
resistance,  sometimes  playfully,  sometimes  pas- 
sionately, but  always  wilfully. 


A  RIDE  WITH  THE  CHILDREN.       133 

• 

"While  the  novelty  lasted,  it  was  smooth  sail 
ing,  for  Mary  Elliott  was  a  pleasant,  intelligent 
teacher,  but  at   length  studies  were  introduced 
which  required  patient  thought,  and  persevering 
efforts. 

Leon  sat  for  awhile,  with  frowning  hrow,  and 
petulant  expression,  puzzling  over  a  difficult  ex- 
ample in  arithmetic. 

Suddenly  pushing  away  his  slate  and  pencil, 
he  started  to  his  feet,  and  exclaimed,  "  Confound 
this  old  arithmetic,  I  hate  it ;  what's  the  use  of 
puzzling  one's  brains  over  such  stuff?  I  am  not 
going  to  try  any  more." 

Mary  took  no  notice  of  Leon's  hasty  speech, 
but  calling  Viola  to  her  side  gave  her  some 
directions  about  a  drawing  in  which  she  was 
interested,  and  which  was  nearly  finished.  The 
boy's  pride  was  wounded,  for  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  hold  arguments  with  Father  Ambrose 
by  the  hour. 

He  stole  a  glance  at  Mary's  face,  but  perceived 
nothing  there  but  a  calm,  firm  look,  and  the 
boy  bit  his  lip  with  vexation;  at  length  he 
spoke. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  help  me,  sister?" 

"I    have    explained   the    principle,   Leon;  it 
would  be  very  easy  fDr  me  to  take  your  slate, 
and  perform  the  work  for  you,  but  what  would 
12 


134  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

• 

you  gain  ?  You  must  try  to  do  it  yourself,  I 
know  that  you  can." 

"  You  know  that  we  are  to  ride  to-day  at 
eleven  o'clock,  I  can't  finish  it  by  that  time." 

"  We  will  not  go  unless  the  example  is  com- 
pleted, Leon." 

The  boy  was  in  great  passion,  tramping  up 
and  down  the  floor,  he  declared  that  he  would 
not  do  the  work,  and  so  the  time  rolled  on. 

Viola  completed  her  task,  and  directly  Pedro 
opened  the  door  to  say  that  the  volante  was  in 
waiting. 

"You  may  put  up  the  carriage,"  said  the 
young  lady,  "  we  are  not  going  to  ride  to-day." 

.Leon  seized  his  slate,  and  threw  it  to  the  other 
side  of  the  room,  dashing  it  to  pieces,  and  then 
sweeping  the  drawing  utensils  from  his  sister's 
table,  he  seized  her  drawing,  and  tore  it  into 
atoms. 

"I  am  sorry  for  you,  Leon,  you  only  hurt 
yourself,"  said  his  sister ;  "  when  you  are  a  little 
more  composed,  we  will  talk  over  this  business, 
but  not  now,"  and  Mary  and  Viola  left  the 
room. 

The  boy  sat  alone  for  some  time,  when  passion 
had  cooled  he  began  to  think  upon  all  his  sister's 
patient  kindness,  and  felt  that  he  was  wholly 
wrong. 


A  RIDE    WITH    THE    CHILDREN.  135 

Leon  was  a  generous,  impulsive  boy,  and 
seizing  his  cap  went  in  pursuit  of  his  sisters, 
and  found  them  in  one  of  the  summer-houses  in 
the  garden. 

Quick  to  acknowledge  wrong,  he  advanced  to 
Mary's  side,  and  with  a  manly  directness 
said, 

"I  have  been  wrong,  sister,  will  you  pardon 
me  ?  I  have  such  a  violent  temper." 

"I  was  more  grieved  than  angry,  Leon;  you 
are  freely  forgiven,  my  child ;  to-morrow  we  will 
talk  it  all  over." 

"  You  are  my  good  sister ;  there  was  no  use  of 
making  apologies  to  Father  Ambrose,  for  he 
never  believed  me,  and  always  said  that  my  pro- 
fessions were  all  pretence." 

Anxious  to  show  his  sincerity,  Leon  gathered 
some  choice  flowers  for  his  sister,  and  bringing 
them  into  the  summer-house,  seated  himself  on 
the  floor,  and  commenced  arranging  them. 

Just  then,  Mary  perceived  a  scorpion  approach- 
ing her  brother's  hand ;  but  a  few  inches  divided 
them. 

"Run  to  the  left,  Leon,  quick!"  said  Mary, 
and  throwing  her  hat  over  the  poisonous  crea- 
ture, she  exclaimed,  "Do  not  move  the  hat, 
there  is  a  scorpion  underneath,"  and  then  fly'ng 
to  the  house,  she  returned  ir  a  few  moments  with 


136  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

a  pitcher  of  scalding  water,  which  she  poured 
upon  the  hat.  Then  lifting  it,  she  perceived  the 
dead  scorpion  lying  on  the  floor  among  the 
flowers. 

"  Thank  you  1  thank  you,  Sister  Mary  !"  said 
the  boy,  "  the  bite  is  very  poisonous.  I  did  not 
see  it,  and  but  for  you,  I  might  have  died." 

When  the  Senor  returned  home,  Leon  related 
the  story  of  the  scorpion,  and  his  father,  seizing 
her  hand,  poured  out  his  emotions  in  warm, 
glowing  language,  while  the  mother  could  only 
express  her  feelings  by  her  tears. 

Mary  said  nothing  about  the  scene  in  the 
morning,  but  Leon  related  every  word  that  had 
passed,  and  said,  "I  will  do  my  very  best  to- 
morrow, sister ;  you  may  trust  me  when  I  pass 
my  word." 

"  Who  knows  what  you  were  sent  here  for, 
my  daughter,"  said  the  Senor,  with  deep  feeling, 
"  to  save  Leon  from  worse  foes  than  a  scorpion, 
perhaps."  These  few  words  sank  deeply  down 
into  her  heart,  and  seated  before  her  table,  they 
are  thus  recorded : 

"In  the  broad  Pacific  lie  groups  of  lovely 
green  islands — the  work  of  the  tiny  creatures  of 
the  sea — long  nothing  but  bare  coral  reefs,  until 
flocks  of  birds  from  distant  lands  drop  here  their 
precious  seed,  and  they  are  thus  clothed  with 


A  RIDE  WITH  THE  CHILDREN.        137 

beauty — when  G-od  would  make  an  island,  he 
Bends  the  unconscious  birds  ministers  of  his  will. 
May  it  not  be  so  in  the  work  of  grace  I  If  he 
intends  to  have  a  green  corner  of  moral  verdure 
here,  may  he  not  have  sent  me  from  a  far  distant 
land  to  droj  the  precious  seed ;  and  by-and-by, 
under  the  sunshine  and  the  shower,  out  of  this 
little  sea  of  life,  to  gather  plants  of  grace  that 
will  hereafter  bloom  in  the  garden  of  the  Lord  on 
earth,  in  the  Paradise  of  God  above.  Make  me 
the  bird  to  drop  the  precious  seed,  dear  Lord." 

Next  day,  in  mild,  affectionate  language,  Mary 
endeavored  to  show  Leon  the  terrible  eifects  of 
ungoverned  tempers,  citing  several  instances  of 
life-sorrow  produced  by  violent  outbreaks  of  a 
passionate  nature. 

"How  shall  I  ever  conquer  it,  sister?"  said  the 
boy. 

"I  will  tell  you,  Leon,  there  was  One  who 
spoke  to  the  stormy  winds  once,  saying,  '  Peace, 
be  still,'  and  they  obeyed  him,  the  same  can 
still  the  waves  of  passion  in  a  human  breast — He 
says,  '  Come,  learn  of  me,  for  I  am  meek  and 
lowly  in  heart,  and  you  shall  find  /eat  unto  your 
souls.'" 

"  Whose  words  are  these,  Mary  ?" 

"They    are    the    Master's,    Leon,    our    dear 
Saviour." 
12* 


138         NOTHING  BUT  LEAVES. 

The  boy  seemed  very  penitent  all  that  day, 
and  endeavored  by  his  actions  to  prove  his 
sincerity. 

Papita  had  witnessed  the  scene  the  morning 
before,  and  discussed  the  matter  with  the 
Senhora's  maid. 

"I  wonder  how  it  is,  Belika,  Donna  Maria 
can  do  more  with  the  boy  than  Father  Ambrose, 
papa,  or  mamma.  I  wonder  if  she  is  a  sor- 
ceress." 

For  these  poor,  superstitious  creatures  did 
really  believe  in  witchcraft  and  sorcery. 

The  next  Sunday  Pedro  brought  up  the 
volaute  for  the  young  lady,  and  said,  "  the  Senor 
told  me  that  you  may  have  the  carriage  every 
Sunday  morning  to  go  where  you  please." 

The  two  ladies'  maids  were  watching  the  car- 
riage as  it  drove  away. 

"  What  a  pity  that  she  is  a  heretic  I"  said 
Belika,  crossing  herself. 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply,  "for  she  is  a  sweet 
young  lady,  and  the  children  love  her  so  much ; 
but  Father  Paul  says  that  sometimes  the  tempter 
comes  to  us  in  the  form  of  an  angel." 

Mary  directed  the  driver  to  take  her  to  the 
English  chapel. 

It  was  a  small  building,  and  quite  a  thin  con- 
gregation, but  Mary  felt  it  a  great  privilege  to 


A  BIDE   WITH    THE    CHILDREN.  139 

mingle  with  God's  people.  The  sermon  was 
spiritual,  the  prayers  comforting,  and  the  music 
devotional. 

Mr.  Austin  had  perceived  a  stranger  in  their 
midst,  and  stepping  down  from  the  pulpit,  at  the 
close  of  the  services,  he  welcomed  her  among 
them. 

"  We  are  a  little  flock,"  said  the  good  man. 
"  Here,  in  this  Popish  country,  our  influence  is 
scarcely  felt,  but  Protestant  Christians  of  every 
name  worship  with  us,  and  we  enjoy  in  an 
humble  way  '  the  communion  of  saints.' " 

"  It  will  be  a  great  privilege,"  said  Mary,  "  for 
I  am  a  member  of  a  Catholic  family,  and  feel  so 
lonely." 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Austin  heard  where  she  dwelt, 
he  remarked, 

"  You  will  have  need  of  much  grace,  my  dear 
young  lady,  to  keep  your  garments  clean ;  but 
there  is  a  strong  tower." 

"  I  know  it,  Mr.  Austin,  but  will  you  not  too 
call  to  see  me !" 

"  Gladly,"  was  the  quick  reply,  "  and  my  wife 
and  daughter  will  come  also,  we  shall  be  glad  to 
make  your  acquaintance." 

Diary — "As  .a  draught  of  cool  water  in  a 
thirsty  land,  so  sweet  is  the  consciousness  that  I 


140  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

have  found  a  little  sanctuary,  where,  with  my 
fellow  Christians,  I  can  worship  my  Redeemer. 

"It  was  such  a  blessed  Sunday,  the  kind 
greeting  of  the  English  minister,  the  prospect 
of  Christian  friends,  the  faithful,  earnest  holding 
up  of  Jesus  cheered  my  weary  spirit,  and  filled 
my  heart  with  joy  and  peace  in  believing.  And 
even  the  giddy  company  always  gathered  on  the 
Sabbath  did  not  dim  the  vision  of  the  '  Delec- 
table Mountains,'  for  in  my  quiet  room,  they 
were  in  view  all  day. 

"Papa  has  granted  me  permission  to  absent 
myself  from  these  Sabbath  gatherings,  much  to 
my  mother's  vexation. 

"  Leon  and  Viola  often  come  to  me  in  my  room 
in  the  afternoon,  and  I  show  them  my  book  of 
Scripture  pictures,  of  which  they  are  very  fond, 
and  some  times  we  sing  hymns  together.  God 
bless  the  dear  children  and  gather  them  into 
his  spiritual  fold,  but  they  are  beset  with 
snares.'' 


THE    AUSTINS.  141 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE 


"I  have  just  had  a  visit  from 
the  pastor's  wife  and  daughter.  It  was 
so  delightful  to  see  one  who  looked  like  a 
native  of  my  own  land.  Mrs.  Austin  is 
an  interesting  Christian  lady,  middle-aged,  with 
a  fine,  benevolent  face,  dressed  in  the  modest 
costume  of  an  English  matron  ;  her  daughter, 
Fanny,  is  about  my  own  age,  with  a  bright 
complexion,  and  such  a  pleasant  smile  upon 
features  that  are  not  regular.  Her  manners  are 
artless  and  ingenious,  with  the  polish  of  a  refined 
education,  none  of  the  glitter  of  fashion,  of  which 
I  see  so  much.  They  treated  me  with  the 
freedom  of  an  old  acquaintance,  and  Mrs.  Austin 
said, 

"  '  "We  expect  to  see  a  great  deal  of  you,  Miss 
Elliott  ;  Fanny  has  no  very  genial  companion, 
and  we  are  both  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  a 
friend  ;  will  you  spend  next  Wednesday  with 
us?' 


142  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

"  *  I  can  come  after  twelve  o'clock,  Mrs.  Aus- 
tin, for  I  am  engaged  with  the  children  until 
that  time  every  day  but  Saturday.' 

"Then  kissing  my  cheek,  Mrs.  Austin  took 
her  leave,  and  left  a  blessing  behind,  for  with  it 
came  the  memory  of  Aunt  Margaret." 

"  I  ha  ve  paid  my  first  visit  to  the  good  min- 
ister's family — they  live  in  simple  style  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  chapel — there  is  one  son, 
their  eldest  child,  named  Philip,  a  gentlemanly 
young  man,  who  seems  devoted  to  his  parents 
and  sister.  We  dined  in  an  apartment  adjoin. ag 
the  drawing-room,  looking  out  upon  the  garden. 
I  could  bow  my  head  there  without  dreading  a 
mother's  frown,  for  Mr.  Austin  reverently  asked 
a  blessing. 

"  The  conversation  was  improving,  and  after 
dinner  Fanny  led  the  way  to  the  drawing-room, 
where  we  three  young  people  enjoyed  an  hour  of 
Bacred  music  while  Fanny  played.  She  has  a 
sweet,  and  Philip  a  powerful,  voice.  Mr.  Austin 
praised  the  music,  and  said, 

" c  We  must  have  you  in  our  choir,  Miss 
Elliott,  for  there  is  quite  a  lack  of  good  voices.' 

"  Mrs.  Austin  reminded  me  of  Aunt  Margaret, 
not  that  she  is  at  all  like  her,  for  she  is  rather 
stout  and  healthy,  but  there  is  a  gentle,  affec- 


THE   AUSTINS.  143 

tionate  manner,  which  is  so  like  that  precious 
aunt 

"  Philip  is  very  intelligent,  and  Fanny  a  lovely 
girl.  It  was  such  a  pleasant  visit,  no  restraints, 
but  all  so  congenial  to  my  tastes.  God  is  very 
good  to  grant  me  such  a  Bethel  of  refreshment 
:n  a  weary  land  of  exile. 

"  Philip  took  me  home  in  their  little  carriage, 
and  was  pleased  to  say  on  parting,  that  he  hoped 
my  visits  to  the  rectory  would  be  frequent. 

"  Papa  is  very  kind,  for  he  is  grateful  for  the 
interest  shown  in  the  children,  whom  he  idolizes, 
but  my  mother  is  often  harsh  and  severe,  she  can 
scarcely  tolerate  my  Protestant  whims,  as  she  is 
pleased  to  term  them.  Her  priest,  Father  Bene- 
diceto,  is  a  frequent  visitor,  especially  since  I  have 
been  attending  the  English  chapel.  I  wonder  if 
it  is  designed,  for  he  evidently  seeks  my  society. 

"  One  afternoon,  I  was  seated  in  the  pavilion,  at 
the  foot  of  the  garden,  when  I  saw  the  priest 
approaching,  and  my  mother  standing  on  the 
terrace,  evidently  watching.  He  came  in,  and 
took  his  seat  by  my  side.  After  some  general 
conversation,  he  inquired, 

'"Have  you  been  to  St.  Sebastian's,  Donna 
Maria?' 

" '  ]STo.  father,  I  am  a  Protestant.' 

"  His    countenance    changed   somewhat,  but 


144  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

putting  on  one  of  his  blandest  smiles,  he  re- 
plied, 

" '  Yes,  I  'know  that,  but  there  is  a  great  deal 
to  interest  a  young  lady  of  your  taste ;  the  music 
is  of  the  highest  order:  would  you  not  like  to 
hear  it  ?' 

"'  Hot  on  the  Sabbath,  father,  for  on  that  day 
I  go  to  church  to  worship  God.' 

"'You  can  certainly  worship  God  in  other 
churches  beside  your  own.' 

" '  Yes,  certainly,  in  some,  but  not  where  the 
mass  is  performed.' 

"'Why,  what  objection  do  you  see  to  that?' 

"'Idolatry,  father;  do  you  not  elevate  the 
elements,  and  call  upon  the  people  to  bow  down 
before  them !' 

"'Is  this  the  way  that  you  speak  of  the  body 
and  blood  of  our  Lord  ?' 

" '  The  body  of  our  Lord  is  no  more  on  earth, 
father,  and  a  priest  cannot  create  his  God.' 

"  The  priest  bit  his  lip,  and  then  returned  to 
the  charge. 

" '  You  certainly  do  not  call  the  numerous  sects 
in  the  world  by  the  name  of  the  Christian 
Church,  Miss  Elliott.' 

" '  I  call  all  branches  of  the  great  Catholic  or 
Universal  Church,  who  hold  the  unity  of  the 
Spirit  in  the  bond  of  peace.' 


THE   AUSTINS.  145 

"'"What!  Episcopalians,  and  Presbyterians, 
and  Baptists,  and  Methodists,  and  Lutherans  1' 

" '  All,  father,  who  hold  the  doctrine's  of  salva- 
tion through  a  crucified  Redeemer,  and  long  for 
perfect  sanctification  tnrough  the  Holy  Spirit. 
1  look  upon  all  such  as  members  of  the  invisible 
Church  of  Christ,  and  as  such,  I  can  hold  fellow- 
ship with  them.' 

"'Monstrous!'  said  the  priest,  crossing  him- 
self. '  I  am  surprised  that  a  young  lady  of  your 
intelligence  on  other  subjects,  can  be  so  misled  in 
this — let  me  ask  you  a  question — where  were  all 
these  sects  in  the  days  of  the  blessed  apostles  ?' 

" '  I  will  answer  you  by  asking  another,  father, 
where  was  the  Romish  Church  with  its  idolatry 
of  the  mass,  its  worship  of  the  Virgin,  its  saints 
and  images,  its  celibacy  of  the  priests,  its  confes- 
sional, and  other  superstitions  in  that  little  upper 
chamber  of  Jerusalem,  which  contained  the 
Christian  Church,  and  where  the  early  Chris- 
tians waited  for  the  descent  of  the  Holy  Spirit  ?' 

"  The  priest  looked  confounded. 

"'These  are  vain  and  curious  questions,  which 
I  am  not  bound  to  answer,  Miss  Elliott.' 

" '  But  remember,  father,  that  I  believe  in  the 
darkest  days  of  the  Christian  Church,  there  were 
those  who  trusted  simply  in  the  Redeemer,  who 
maintained  spiritual  communion  with  the  Father, 


146          NOTHING  BUT  LEAVES. 

and  out  of  the  midst  of  a  corrupt  church,  were 
carried  safely  home  to  heaven,  for  God  has  had 
his  people  in  all  ages.' 

"  The  priest  was  silent  for  a  minute,  and  then 
remarked, 

"'You  will  not  object  to  come  to  St.  Sebas- 
tian's on  some  of  the  week  days ;  there  is  not 
much  fear  of  contamination  for  such  as  Miss 
Elliott.' 

"'I  will  come  some  day  with  my  mother,' 
was  my  reply,  and  thus  our  interview  ended." 

The  priest  had  found  his  match,  and  walked 
with  the  young  lady  back  to  the  house,  but  the 
Senhora  could  discover  nothing  of  the  results 
from  his  sphynx-like  face.  As  he  passed  out, 
the  lady  followed  him  to  the  second  terrace,  when 
he  said, 

"  A  confirmed  heretic,  Senhora ;  there  is  no 
hope  of  your  daughter,  none  whatever  in  argu- 
ment, she  is  posted  in  all  the  heretical  dogmas — 
the  only  way  is  to  undermine — set  secret  traps." 

Mary  found  great  delight  in  the  society  she  met 
at  the  rectory,  where  the  best  English  and 
American  families  were  in  the  habit  of  assem- 
bling. 

The  monthly  communion  was  a  precious  privi- 
lege, it  mattered  not  whether  she  knelt  or  sat  to 


THE   AUSTINS.  147 

receive  the  sacred  emblems,  so  that  she  heard  the 
Saviour's  words : 

"  This  is  my  body,  which  is  given  for  you,  this 
do  in  remembrance  of  me,"  and,  "  This  cup  is  the 
New  Testament  in  my  blood,  which  is  shed  for 
you." 

Like  gentle  dew  they  sank  into  the  young 
believer's  hoart,  and  often  sent  her  on  her  way 
rejoicing. 

"  Have  you  any  Sunday-school,  Mr.  Austin  ?" 
said  the  young  lady  one  day,  when  on  a  visit  to 
the  rectory. 

"  We  have  none,  Miss  Elliott,  but  I  should  be 
happy  if  we  could  bring  one  into  our  little 
chapel." 

"  Three  teachers  will  be  enough  to  commence 
with,"  was  the  reply ;  "  Philip,  Fanny,  and  my- 
self could  teach  twenty  or  thirty ;  there  are 
several  families  who  attend  at  the  chapel,  who 
have  children." 

"  Go,  see  what  you  can  do,  my  child,  and  God's 
blessing  go  with  you." 

In  company  -with  Philip  and  Fanny,  they 
called  upon  several  families,  who  were  glad  to 
have  biich  an  opportunity,  and  next  Sunday 
eight  little  girls,  and  three  boys  presented  thera- 
Belves  at  the  chapel. 

Mary  felt  once  more  at  home,  for  in  the  re- 


148  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

membrance  of  the  happy  days  at  Hollyville,  the 
faces  of  her  wild,  untutored  girls  often  arose 
before  her,  and  the  thought  of  Wild  Mag 
brought  back  the  memory  of  the  half-savage 
crew  with  singular  power. 

But  these  were  of  a  different  order,  belonging 
to  the  better  classes  of  Protestant  families  in  the 
city. 

Diary — "I  often  stay  to  dinner  with  the 
Austins  on  Sunday,  and  thus  I  escape  the  vanity 
and  sin  of  that  holy  day. 

"  Charlotte  has  thrown  herself  completely  into 
the  vortex  of  folly  by  which  we  are  surrounded 
— opera,  ball,  theatre,  dress,  fill  up  all  her  time — 
dissatisfaction  rests  upon  her  beautiful  face,  and 
lines  of  care  are  marked  upon  her  forehead. 

"I  find  constantly  upon  my  table  books  de- 
fending the  Romish  faith  ;  I  suppose  that  Father 
Benediceto  employs  Papita  to  put  them  there, 
for  she  sometimes  asks  me  if  I  have  read  them* 
They  fall  harmless,  for  I  still  carry  '  the  shield 
of  faith,  and  the  sword  of  the  spirit,'  by  which 
to  ward  off  every  attack. 

"  Charlotte  was  here  yesterday,  and  for  a  few 
minutes  we  were  alone.  She  looked  depressed. 
I  asked  if  her  present  life  of  gayety  satisfied  her. 
Her  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  replied, 


THE   AUSTINS.  149 

"*I  have  tried  religion,  it  was  only  bondage] 
I  have  tried  the  world,  and  it  yields  bittei 
ashes.' 

" '  You  are  mistaken,  Charlotte,  you  have  not 
tried  religion ;  just  read  what  the  Psalmist  and 
apostles  say  about  the  blessedness  of  God's 
service,  and  see  if  all  do  not  pronounce  the  King- 
dom of  God  "  righteousness,  and  peace,  and  joy 
in  the  Holy  Ghost.'" 

"'  It  was  never  so  to  me,'  said  the  lady. 

" '  Because  you  did  not  commence  your  Chris- 
tian life  from  within  ;  outward  restraints  and  out- 
door activity  were  all  that  you  conceived  of  god- 
liness, while  the  heart  was  all  unchanged;  no 
wonder  that  you  deemed  it  bondage.' 

" '  It  may  be  so,  Mary,  but  it  is  too  late  now ; 
I  am  on  the  road  to  something  else,'  and  Char- 
lotte walked  forward  to  the  terrace  to  meet  some 
of  her  Portuguese  friends,  who  were  just  then 
advancing. 

"  To-morrow  is  the  day  for  blessing  the  ashes 
of  the  dead.  Mamma  has  invited  me  to  go  with 
her  to  church.  She  has  two  infant  children, 
whose  ashes  have  just  been  placed  in  two  silver 
urns  in  the  church  of  St.  Sebastian ;  I  promised 
to  go." 

"  I  went  yesterday  to  witness  the  ceremony — 


150  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

it  appears  that  the  remains  of  departed  friends 
are  placed  in  niches  in  a  wall,  then  in  succession 
priests  and  friends  throw  hoi}'  water  and  a 
scoop  of  quick  lime  on  the  body,  until  a  bushel  is 
thus  disposed  of,  entirely  concealing  the  body. 
In  half  an  hour  after  the  ceremonies,  the  niche  is 
bricked  up,  and  covered  with  a  coat  of  white 
plaster.  In  this  mode,  nothing  like  corruption 
takes  place.  The  lime  consumes  the  flesh,  and 
in  two  years  the  bones  are  taken  out  and  placed 
in  a  rose-wood  or  marble  vase,  or  burned,  and  the 
ashes  preserved.  These  urns  are  placed  around 
the  church,  and  once  a  year  brought  out  and 
placed  around  the  altar  to  be  blessed  by  the 
priest.  To  me  the  ceremonies  were  extremely 
revolting ;  the  sprinkling  with  holy  water,  the 
burning  of  incense  and  muttered  prayers,  hurried 
over  by  the  priest,  were  to  me  like  mockery ; 
nothing  was  impressive  but  the  music.  I  thought 
of  the  sacred  dust  of  Uncle  Winslow  and  little 
Letty,  sleeping  so  sweetly  in  the  church  yard  at 
Holly  ville,  and  blessed  God  for  the  assurance  that, 
precious  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord,  is  the  dust  of 
all  who  sleep  in  Jesus.  Mamma  asked  me  if  I 
did  not  think  the  ceremony  touching,  I  could 
only  say, 

'"Don't  ask  me,  mamma,  I  might  pair,  you  by 
telling  you  what  I  think.' 


THE    AUSTINS.  151 

"'You  are  an  outrageous  Protestant,  Mary, 
you  stayed  much  too  long  at  Holly ville.'" 

"  It  is  growing  very  warm,  and  papa  proposes 
to  go  next  week  to  the  villa  on  the  mountain. 
Mamma  is  very  frail,  her  step  grows  weaker  as 
her  eye  grows  brighter,  and  the  color  on  her  cheek 
of  sometimes  almost  carnation  tints,  and  then 
again  pale  as  a  lily.  Leon  and  Viola  are 
delighted,  for  they  are  to  have  a  holiday,  several 
young  friends  go  with  us,  and  I  am  allowed  to 
invite  Fanny  Austin,  not  by  mamma,  but  by 
papa's  permission." 

"Yesterday  we  started  for  the  villa — had  a 
most  charming  ride.  Papa,  mamma,  and  the 
priest  in  one  carriage,  Fanny  Austin,  the  two 
children,  and  myself  in  another,  while  a  third 
brought  up  some  of  the  family  servants.  AVe 
found  a  villa  just  adapted  to  the  climate,  simply 
furnished  with  matting,  and  cane-seat  chairs,  and 
settees ;  windows  open  to  the  floor,  and  air 
invited  every  where. 

"  I  do  not  like  the  idea  of  Father  Benediceto 
as  a  constant  guest,  but  I  find  that  the  time  for 
Viola's  confirmation  is  approaching,  and  he  comes 
to  instruct  her. 

"  The  villa  is  situated  on  a  Blope  of  the  moun- 


152  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

tain,  where  the  weather  is  not  too  cool  for 
abundant  vegetation ;  wild  flowers  abound ;  there 
is  a  mountain  stream  near,  and  from  every  win- 
dow we  have  a  view  of  snow-capped  mountains, 
in  some  places  scarcely  to  be  distinguished  from 
the  masses  of  glistening  clouds.  Every  day 
brings  us  additions  to  our  company,  who  stay  a 
few  days,  and  then  give  place  to  others.  I  am 
expected  to  do  my  part  towards  entertaining 
them.  I  have  learned  to  play  on  the  guitar,  and 
Leon  and  I  can. sing  a  number  of  pretty  songs 
together. 

"  Last  evening,  papa  brought  up  the  Senor  de 
Lagua,  brother  to  Sister  Clarice,  the  nun  of 
whom  Leon  has  so  often  spoken.  I  am  very 
sorry,  for  he  has  often  sent  me  flowers,  has 
invited  me  out  to  ride,  and  seeks  my  society 
more  than  I  desire.  Papa  and  mamma  treat 
him  with  great  deference.  He  belongs  to  one  of 
the  oldest  and  most  wealthy  families  of  the 
country,  and  they  have  frequently  pained  me 
by  their  open  approbation  of  his  attentions. 
He  is  one  of  the  best  of  his  class  that  I  have 
met,  handsome,  accomplished,  and  much  ad- 
mired by  the  young  ladies  here;  but  he  is  a 
Romanist,  a  worldling,  and  cannot  be  admitted 
to  intimacy,  for  he  belongs  to  Vanity  Fair,  from 
which  I  have  long  ago  come  out." 


THE   AUSTINS.  153 

"  Phiiip  Austin  came  up  last  evening,  and  we 
propose,  in  company  with  Fanny,  to  explore 
these  heights  together ;  there  are  such  charming 
pictures  every  where.  Mamma  does  not  like  his 
visits,  but  he  comes  to  see  his  sister,  and  is  very 
intelligent  and  interesting ;  so  I  think.  It  is 
such  a  treat  to  have  these  congenial  friends  in  a 
land  of  exib. 

"  Philip  was  doubly  welcome,  for  he  brought 
me  letters  from  Aunt  Margaret  and  Harriet 
Butler — an  extract  below  from  Aunt  Margaret's. 

"'It  is  spring-time,  Mary.  Emily  and  I 
visited  the  violet  dell,  and  thought  of  Letty  and 
Mary ;  we  gathered  some  of  the  swTeet  blossoms, 
and  I  placed  them  in  the  pure  white  vase  on 
your  bureau ;  it  seemed,  Mary,  as  if  you  must 
be  there,  to  say  how  sweet  they  were.  Harriet 
has  been  very  faithful  to  your  class,  they  have 
been  removed  according  to  your  desire  to  the 
Sunday-school,  and  none  are  more  interested 
than  these  rude,  untutored  girls,  wrho  sjiow  so 
much  improvement.  Four  have  obtained  places 
in  the  factory,  and  are  supporting  themselves ; 
three  are  living  in  families,  Wild  Mag  with 
Mrs.  Butler,  and  bids  fair  to  become  an  excellent 
servant,  for  she  is  a  bright  girl,  very  quick  to 
learn;  and  what  is  best  of  all,  she  exhibits 
decided  marks  of  piety ;  she  is  one  of  your  most 


NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

devoted  friends.  Mark  is  still  absent,  but  very 
industriously  pursuing  his  studies.  Emily  is 
really  taking  your  place,  and  is  a  great  comfort 
to  her  mother.  I  think  of  you,  my  dear  niece, 
at  "  Vanity  Fair,"  for  you  may  well  call  it  so, 
but  I  remember  who  was  there  with  Christian, 
and  how  safely  and  unharmed  he  walked  through 
all  its  snares.  I  see  the  man  behind  the  wall 
feeding  the  flame  with  secret  oil,  which  the  evil 
one  tries  in  vain  to  extinguish  with  streams  of 
water ;  I  believe  that  just  such  a  one  is  near  my 
Mary.'" 

The  children  are  devoted  to  Mary,  for  she  is  a 
loving,  faithful  sister,  but  their  frequent  exhibi- 
tions of  violent  temper  cause  her  great  anxiety. 
Leon  loves  to  teaze  his  little  sister,  and  one  day 
Viola  came  rushing  into  Mary's  room  with  her 
pet  dog  in  her  arms,  half-drowned. 

"  See !  what  this  bad  boy  has  done,  almost 
drowned  my  pet.  I  hate  him,  that  I  do,"  and 
the  little  girl's  dark  eyes  flashed  with  anger, 
while  Leon  stood  by,  laughing  at  her  excite- 
ment. Turning  to  her  brother,  she  commenced 
a  tirade  in  Portuguese,  making  violent  gesticu- 
lations at  the  same  time ;  then  seizing  a  tumbler, 
she  threw  it  at  Leon,  and  struck  him  on  the 
head.  This  aroused  his  temper  j  seizing  her  by 


THE    AUSTINS.  155 

the  shoulders,  lie  shook  her  violently,  stamping 
his  feet  and  grinding  his  teeth  with  rage.  Mary 
tried  to  interfere,  but  both  resisted  her  efforts — 
at  the  moment,  the  Sefior  passed  the  window ; 
calling  him  in,  it  required  the  force  of  a  stroug 
arm  to  detach  Leon's  hold  of  little  Viola. 

It  took  some  hours  for  the  two  to  recover,  and 
•when  Leor  became  more  calm,  Mary  took  him 
aside,  and  remonstrated  with  him  on  the  wicked- 
ness of  such  tempers. 

"  I  am  afraid,  Leon,  that  some  day  you  will 
bring  sorrow  and  disgrace  upon  your  family,  if 
you  do  not  learn  to  control  yourself." 

"  I  can't  help  it,  sister,  I  was  born  with  such  a 
temper,  and  Viola  did  make  me  so  angry." 

"  You  were  most  to  blame,  Leon ;  you  know 
how  she  loves  her  little  dog,  and  it  was  unmanly 
to  treat  her  so ;  you  are  her  brother,  four  years 
older,  and  should  protect  her  from  outrage." 

"  You  are  always  right,  sister.  I  wish  that  I 
could  be  like  you." 

"  There  is  but  one  way,  Leon,  the  Saviour  who 
cast  out  devils,  and  stilled  the  waves  of  the  sea, 
is  the  only  one  who  can  cure  my  brother." 

"  I  cannot  find  him,  sister ;  he  seems  so  far  off, 
for  I  have  always  been  taught  to  pray  to  the 
Virgin  and  the  saints,  and  it  does  not  help  me 
one  bit." 


156  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

"You  must  remember,  Leon,  that  when  on 
earth,  Jesus  allowed  sinners  to  come  near  enough 
to  touch  him,  and  when  they  came  thus  to  be 
healed,  he  never  turned  one  away." 

"  But  I  can't  come  that  way,  Mary,  for  he  is 
far  oft'  in  heaven  now." 

"  By  faith  you  can  come  just  as  near,  Leon, 
and  he  will  be  just  as  certain  to  help  you ;  but 
there  is  one  thing  that  you  must  do  now,  go  and 
ask  your  sister's  pardon." 

"  That  I  will  do  at  once,  Mary,  for  I  know 
that  I  was  wrong ;"  and  seeking  the  child,  he 
found  her  crying  on  the  bank  of  the  mountain 
stream. 

Viola  loved  her  brother  dearly,  and  when  she 
saw  him  coming,  she  arose  immediately,  laid  her 
head  upon  his  shoulder,  and  wept  convulsively. 

"Don't  cry  so,  Viola,"  said  her  brother;  "I 
was  a  bad  boy  to  hurt  you  so ;  I  am  very  sorry." 

"And  I  was  bad,  too,  Leon  ;  it  was  dreadful 
to  throw  the  tumbler  at  you ;  suppose  that  it  had 
broken — forgive  me,  Leon." 

The  two  passionate,  impulsive  children  sealed 
their  reconciliation  with  a  warm  kiss,  and  Leon 
taking  out  his  handkerchief,  and  dipping  it  in 
the  water,  wiped  his  sister's  eyes,  and  then  led 
her  back  to  the  house, 

In  a  few  minutes,  the  boy   brought  out  his 


THE   ATTSTINS.  157 

pony,  and  was  giving  his  little  sister  a  ride, 
trying  by  every  means  in  his  power  to  make 
amends  for  the  morning's  outrage. 

Mary  and  her  father  were  at  the  window. 
The  Senor  smiled,  and  said, 

"  Their  little  quarrels  are  soon  over,  daughter." 
He  seemed  satisfied,  but  Mary  took  a  different 
view,  and  looking  forward  to  the  future,  feared 
the  volcanoes  that  lodged  in  their  youthful 
bosoms. 

The  Senhora  seemed  much  benefit  ted  by  the 
change,  but  was  often  very  irritable,  and  com- 
plained that  Belika  did  not  know  how  to  dress 
her  hair. 

One  day,  Mary  was  present,  and  ventured  to 
say, 

"  Let  me  try,  Belika,  perhaps  mamma  will  let 
me  dress  it." 

The  maid  retired,  and  Mary  taking  the  comb 
and  brush  commenced  the  task.  The  lady  had  a 
profusion  of  soft  black  hair,  and  Mary  was  very 
gen  tie' in  her  touch,  but  the  secret  of  her  success 
lay  in  the  power  that  she  had  by  her  pleasant 
chat  of  turning  her  thoughts  into  another 
channel. 

She  related  in  a  graphic  manner  the  adventures 
of  the  day  before,  telling  her  mother  how  Philip 
and  she  had  been  frightened  by  the  sight  of  what 
14 


158  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

they  supposed  to  be  mountain  robbers,  and  then, 
when  the  monsters  drew  near,  who  should  they 
be  but  Pedro  and  Baptiste,  who  laughed  heartily 
at  the  joke.  Mamma  was  amused  at  the  thought, 
and  thus  beguiling  the  time,  Mary  succeeded  in 
dressing  the  hair  to  mamma's  satisfaction. 

"  How  nicely  you  have  done  it !"  said  the  lady, 
as  she  surveyed  her  hair  in  a  small  toilet  glass. 
"  I  think,  Mary,  you  must  do  this  every  day,  for 
my  head  is  tender,  and  Belika  is  rough,  and 
hurts  me  dreadfully." 

"Now,  mamma,  let  me  play  you  my  new 
piece,"  and  Mary  brought  out  her  guitar,  and 
sang  with  her  own  sweet  accompaniment, 
"  Sounds  from  Home." 

"  That  is  charming,  Mary,"  said  the  invalid, 
"  but  very  sad ;  I  suppose  that  it  takes  you  back 
to  Holiyville." 

"  Yes,  mamma ;  it  was  a  sweet  and  holy  home, 
"and  I  was  very  happy  there." 

"  Then  you  are  not  happy  here  ?" 

"  I  did  not  say  so,  mamma." 

"  But  you  think  so,  Mary." 

"There  is  only  one  thing  that  weighs  upon 
my  spirits,  and  that  is,  the  difference  in  our 
faith." 

u  You  ought  to  be  contented,  Mary,  for  we  lay 
no  positive  restraints  upon  you,  although  we  are 


THE    AUSTINS.  159 

pained  by  your  heresy ;  you  would  have  found 
your  way  into  a  convent  long  ago  in  many  other 
families  :  for,  looking  upon  heresy  as  soul-destroy- 
ing, devout  Catholics  think  any  means  justifia- 
ble to  bring  wanderers  into  the  fold  of  the  true 
church." 

"I  am  thankful  for  your  indulgence,  mamma, 
for  it  would  have  been  a  sore  trial  to  have  been 
compelled  to  attend  upon  a  Romish  church ;  but 
let  us  change  the  subject.  I  want  you  to  hear  a 
hymn  that  I  have  learned  lately,"  and  she  played 
most  touchingly, 

"Jesus,  Saviour  of  my  soul, 
Let  me  to  Thy  bosom  fly, 
While  the  waves   of  trouble  roll, 
While  the  tempest  still  is  nigh. " 

The  mother  was  silent,  evidently  touched  by 
the  sweet  music,  and  the  words  of  living  faith. 

"  I  used  to  love  that  hymn  when  I  was  young, 
Mary ;  it  brings  back  the  days  when  we  used  to 
go  to  church  with  father  and  mother." 

Just  then,  Father  Benediceto  made  his  appear- 
ance suddenly  through  the  open  window  that  led 
out  into  the  verandah,  for  the  Seiihora's  apart- 
ments were  on  the  first  floor.  Mary  suspected 
that  he  had  heard  much  of  their  conversation, 
for  he  wore  a  dark  scowl  upon  his  face,  as  he 
eaid, 


160  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

"Miss  Elliott,  we  would  like  to  be  alone*" 

And  kissing  her  mother,  Mary  left  the  room 
to  join  her  young  companions,  who  were  waiting 
at  the  gate. 

"  This  is  a  charming  day  for  a  stroll,"  said 
Philip,  "suppose  that  we  seek  the  mountain 
top." 

"I  would  rather  enjoy  the  view  by  sunset," 
was  the  reply  ;  "  but  we  will  take  the  boat,  and 
row  about  among  the  shadows  of  the  trees,"  and 
Mary  called  Pedro  to  examine  the  skiff.  Taking 
her  guitar,  they  entered  the  boat ;  under  the 
shade  of  a  thick  awning  they  were  completely 
sheltered  from  the  rays  of  the  sun,  and  among 
the  windings  of  the  mountain  stream  they  spent 
the  morning,  Mary  playing  on  her  guitar,  and 
the  three  singing  sweet,  soothing  hymns.  The 
evening  found  them  in  the  midst  of  a  shady 
grove,  where  several  rustic  seats  had  been  placed 
for  the  benefit  of  those  who  wished  to  enjoy  the 
finest  view  of  the  snow-capped  mountains. 

It  was  sunset,  and  the  mountain  peaks  reflect- 
ing the  lovely  colors  at  that  peculiar  hour, 
seemed  bathed  in  glory ;  as  the  sun  declined,  the 
more  glowing  colors  melted  away  into  rosy  tints, 
and  the  clouds  which  lay  like  banks  of  snow 
above,  gradually  changed  their  glistening  white 
into  the  glories  of  a  tropical  sunset. 


THE    AUSTINS.  161 

"I  always  think  of  the  ^New  Jerusalem," 
traid  Mary,  "  when  I  look  upon  such  a  picture ; 
•those  mountain  peaks  look  like  towers,  and  the 
clouds  to  me  often  assume  the  form  of  turrets, 
behind  which  I  imagine  the  angels — let  me 
repeat  some  beautiful  lines,"  and  in  sweet  tonea 
she  recited, 

" '  Thy  turrets  and  thy  pinnacles 

WitH  carbuncles  do  shine  ; 
Thy  very  streets  are  paved  with  gold, 
Surpassing  clear  and  fine. 

*"  Ah,  ray  sweet  home,  Jerusalem, 

Would  God  I  were  in  thee  ! 
Would  God  my  woes  were  at  an  end, 
Thy  joys  that  I  might  see !' 

"Have  we  all  a  hope  to  meet  there?"  said 
Mary. 

"  "What  can  compare  with  that !"  replied  Philip 
Anstin.  "I  look  around  sometimes  upon  this 
vain  and  wicked  world,  so  given  up  to  sensu- 
ality, and  wonder  why  the  Lord  does  not  cut  it 
off." 

The  last  rays  of  the  sun  had  long  since  disap- 
peared, the  last  faint  tints  of  departing  day  had 
failed,  and  the  gray  shadows  creeping  down  the 
mountain  sides  warned  the  party  that  it  was 
time  to  return.  Reluctantly  they  turned  their 
11* 


162  NOTHING    BUT    LEAA^ES. 

faces  homeward,  and  the  face  of  the  priest  was 
the  first  to  meet  them  at  the  garden  gate.  It 
was  not  pleasant  to  either,  and  yet  they  could 
scarcely  tell  why,  for  the  priest  was  very 
bland  and  gracious  in  his  manner,  had  opened 
wide  the  garden  gate,  holding  it  in  his  hand 
until  all  had  passed  in;  then  bowing  low,  he 
vanished. 

Mary  was  insensibly  gaining  influence  day  by 
day  over  her  mother,  for  the  sanctity  of  real 
holiness  does  preach  its  silent  lessons  every 
where.  Daily,  it  was  her  office  to  dress  her  hair, 
and  during  these  hours  she  lost  no  opportunity 
of  dropping  a  precious  seed.  She  had  not  for- 
gotten the  green  island  in  the  ocean,  nor  the 
birds  who  dropped  the  seeds  of  vegetation  there. 
The  resolution  to  leave  one  text  daily  in  her 
mother's  room  was  faithfully  kept,  and  God's 
blessing  supplicated  in  secret  places.  And  yet 
there  was  no  forcing ;  all  was  so  natural  and  easy, 
that  mamma  had  learned  to  look  for  the  parting 
words. 

"  This  to-day,  mamma,"  said  her  child,  "  JOSUH 
Christ  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners." 

"I  could  not  deny  her,"  thought  the  mother, 
as  she  closed  the  door ;  "  she  only  asks  to  leave 
one  every  day,  and  then  our  Church  believes 
that — so  Father  Benediceto  says." 


THE   AUSTINS.  163 

She  did  not  know  how  powerfully  the  lessons 
of  her  youth  were  retnrr  ing  on  swift  and  silent 
wing  to  do  the  Master's  bidding.  The  air  is  full 
of  such  holy  messengers,  and  they  were  gath- 
ering around  the  Senhora,  silently  displacing 
the  dogmas  which  had  so  long  enthralled  her 
spirit. 


164 


NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 


CHAPTER  XIL 


THE    SENHORA.'S    BA.3L.Ij. 


Philip. 


don't  we  go  to  the  convent  ?"  said 
Leon.     "  I  do  want  Mary  to  see  Sister 
Clarice;   I   know  that   she  would   love 
her." 

"  Suppose  that  we  go  to-morrow,"  said 
"  I  must  return  soon,  and  I  should  like 
to  see  the  interesting  nun  before  I  go." 

Accordingly,  a  party  consisting  of  Fanny, 
Philip,  Mary  and  the  two  children  set  out.  It 
was  a  ride  of  about  ten  miles,  and  when  they 
reached  the  gate,  the  convent  bell  was  ringing 
a  call  to  prayer.  Therefore  the  party  were  in- 
vited into  the  parlor  until  the  service  was  over. 

It  was  Mary's  first  visit  to  a  convent — the 
dark  parlor,  with  its  sombre  furniture,  struck 
her  with  a  sense  of  gloom.  After  a  short  space, 
the  Lady  Superior  appeared  at  the  grating,  and 
told  them  that  they  might  see  some  portions  of 
the  convent,  and  attend  upon  the  vesper  services, 
but  the  nuns  were  never  seen  by  strangers. 


THF  SENIIORA'S  BALL.  165 

After  rambling  around,  the  vesper  bell  called 
them  to  the  chapel ;  at  one  end  was  a  vertical 
wall  of  iron  work  three  stories  high,  bars  and 
bolts  passing  througli  loops  fixed  in  cross  ones  ; 
the  upper  story  of  a  finer  texture.  Behind  this 
lattice,  the  nuns  attend  mass,  yet  no  one  can 
behold  them,  nor  can  they  steal  a  peep  at  human 
faces  in  the  chapel.  Between  them  and  the 
grating  falls  a  curtain  of  black  linen,  secured  to 
the  walls  and  floor,  that  no  hand  can  push  aside. 
This  is  four  feet  from  a  similar  grating,  made 
also  of  metal.  Among  these  cloistered  nuns  was 
Clarice  in  her  black  robes,  but  there  was  that  in 
her  aspect  which  the  Superior  understood,  for  it 
said  plainly  that  neither  soul-subduing  music, 
nor  the  low,  solemn  chants,  neither  the  dim 
religious  light  streaming  in  through  the  stained 
glass,  nor  the  language  of  the  vesper  prayers 
exercised  their  fascinations  over  her  senses,  for  in 
the  heart  of  the  young  recluse  was  hidden  the 
precious  talisman,  the  Word  of  God.  Clarice 
was  a  niece  of  the  Superior,  and  her  firmness 
brought  upon  her  sore  and  heavy  persecutions, 
so  that  life  became  a  burden  to  the  tortured 
girl.  But  she  had  one  friend,  the  old  porteress, 
who  had  once  been  a  servant  in  her  father's 
house,  and  who  had  contrived  *o  inform  Clarice 
of  the  presence  of  the  strangers. 


166  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

The  old  woman  had  shown  them  about  the 
convent,  and  as  she  was  about  to  open  the  gate 
hastity  slipped  a  small  note  into  Fanny's  hand. 

Entering  the  carriage,  Fanny  opened  it,  and 
read  in  small  letters, 

"Try  to  bring  me  a  Testament  and  a  bundle 
of  arrows." 

"  What  can  she  want  with  arrows  ?"  said 
Fanny ;  "  does  she  mean  to  shoot  any  one  ?" 

"I  think  not,"  was  Mary's  reply;  "she  has 
some  plan  of  escape." 

After  supper,  Mary  called  Philip  aside,  and 
showed  him  the  note.  "The  arrow  means 
flight,"  said  the  young  man. 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,  too,"  said  Fanny,  "  but  how 
she  is  ever  to  escape  from  that  dungeon  puzzles 
me." 

"One  escaped  last  year,"  was  the  brother's 
reply ;  "  but  you  have  never  heard  her  story, 
Mary.  Her  name  is  Inez  de  Lagua,  sister  to 
Ferdinand ;  she  belongs  to  one  of  the  most  pow- 
erful families  in  the  country,  who  have  often 
held  positions  near  the  emperor;  they  are  rigid 
Catholics,  and  her  aunt  the  Lady  Superior. 

"  About  a  year  and  a  half  ago,  we  observed  an 
interesting  young  lady  in  the  costume  of  the 
country,  deeply  veiled,  often  attending  upon  the 
services  of  the  chapel  in  the  afternoon,  always 


THE  SENIIORA'S  BALL.  167 

listening  with  deep  seriousness  to  my  father's 
preaching ;  at  length,  she  sought  an  interview, 
stating  who  she  was,  and  why  she  paid  her  visit. 
Her  faith  in  Popery  was  shaken  ;  she  was  seeking 
for  a  better,  purer  faith ;  my  father  gave  her 
a  Bible  in  the  Portuguese  language,  and  a  great 
de;il  of  wise  and  faithful  counsel,  to  which  she 
listened  eagerly,  and  seemed  determined  to  perse- 
vere in  her  inquiries.  She  continued  to  come, 
but  not  so  often,  and  still  in  secret  visited  my 
father.  She  was  in  great  distress,  for  her  steps 
had  been  traced,  and  she  was  threatened  with  a 
convent;  at  length,  she  disappeared,  and  for 
a  long  time  we  heard  nothing,  only  that  she  was 
not  at  home.  One  day,  we  received  permission 
to  go  to  the  Convent  of  the  Carmelites,  to  wit- 
ness the  ceremony  of  two  young  ladies  taking 
the  veil.  I  shall  never  forget  my  emotions 
when,  in  one  of  the  fair  brides  of  heaven,  dressed 
according  to  custom,  in  wedding  costume,  I 
recognized  the  sad,  pale  face  of  Inez  de  Lagua. 
During  the  ceremonies,  I  observed  that  not  one 
word  passed  her  lips,  but  one  of  the  nuns  spoke 
for  her.  When  the  services  were  ended,  Inez  de 
Lagua  appeared  in  the  vestments  of  the  sister- 
hood, known  in  future  as  Sister  Clarice,  and  as 
Bhe  disappeared  from  sight  in  the  sad  procession 
of  nuns,  with  their  black  robes  and  burning 


1G8  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

tapers,  it  seemed  to  me  like  lighting  the  poor 
girl  to  her  dreary  living  tomb.  She  is  not 
a  willing  inmate  of  the  convent,  Mary." 

"How  shall  we  get  a  Testament  to  her, 
Philip?" 

"  I  know  not  now,  but  I  shall  probably  pay 
another  visit  to  the  convent  soon,  for  I  have 
some  English  friends  who  wish  to  see  the  in- 
terior of  one;  the  old  porteress,  I  think,  will 
help  me." 

Philip's  ingenuity  devised  the  mode,  and  the 
old  porteress  dexterously  concealed  the  Testa- 
ment and  arrows  beneath  the  folds  of  her  robes. 

In  a  few  weeks,  the  Senor's  family  were  ready 
to  return  to  the  city ;  cooler  days  had  succeeded 
the  season  of  excessive  heat,  and  the  Senhora 
seemed  better. 

The  anniversary  of  her  wedding  day  was  ap- 
proaching, and  it  had  been  her  custom  ever 
since  her  marriage  to  celebrate  the  occasion  by  a 
ball,  quite  an  event  among  the  fashionables  of 
Eio. 

Mary  had  firmly  declined  all  such  invitations, 
although  she  had  received  many.  She  had 
formed  but  few  acquaintances  among  the  na- 
tives, for  they  generally  esteemed  her  a  great 
oddity.  But  here,  in  her  mother's  house,  on 
such  an  occasion,  she  could  not  ask  to  bo  ex» 


THE  SEXHORA'S  BALL.  169 

cnsed ;  and,  unpleasant  as  it  was  to  her  spiritual 
tastes,  she  allowed  the  Scnor  to  purchase  her 
dress,  only  begging  that  it  might  be  white,  and 
not  calculated  to  draw  attention  to  herself. 
When  Mary  stood  before  her  mother,  arrayed  in 
a  cobweb  robe  of  fine  embroided  lace  over  white 
silk,  with  ornaments  of  costly  pearl,  and  a  few 
white  flowers  in  her  soft  brown  hair,  even  the 
SeShora  was  satisfied  with  her  "  little  Quaker- 
ess," as  she  styled  her  daughter,  for  no  dress 
could  have  been  selected  that  suited  better  her 
pure  and  holy  face.  Even  now,  she  did  not 
forget  her  text,  and  whispered,  "  This  is  the 
verse  for  to-day,  mamma,  '  The  fashion  of  this 
world  passeth  away,  the  flower  thereof  falleth, 
and  the  grace  of  the  fashion  of  it  perisheth.'" 
The  rooms  all  thrown  open,  were  in  a  glow  of 
splendor — the  conservatory  filled  with  lovely 
flowers,  and  the  fountain  playing  in  the  central 
room ;  the  whole  suite  of  apartments  decorated 
with  rich  flowers. 

The  rooms  were  filled  with  ladies  dressed  in 
a  style  of  magnificence,  of  which  Mary  in 
her  simplicity  had  never  dreamed.  Diamonds 
gleamed  in  the  glossy  black  hair,  and  robes  of 
costly  fabrics  adorned  the  forms  of  Portuguese 
beauty. 

Attention   was   directed,  however,  chiefly  to 

15* 


170  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

the  lovely  Mrs.  Rogers,  who,  in  queenly  attiie, 
moved  about  in  this  scene  of  giddy  revelry. 
The  Sef.hora,  in  her  fa  led  beauty,  drew  all  eyes 
to  her  in  pitying  sympathy.  Clad  in  a  robe  of 
lace  and  satin,  glittering  with  diamonds,  the 
splendor  seemed  but  mockery  ;  for  her  short, 
quick  breath  which  came  and  went  so  rapidly,  her 
liquid  dark  eyes  glittering  with  fever,  and  the 
carnation  tints  which  touched  cheek  and  lips, 
all  spoke  volumes  to  the  guests.  She  did  not 
attempt  to  move  about  among  the  company,  for 
she  was  not  equal  to  the  effort,  therefore  the 
honors  of  the  entertainment  were  performed  by 
Mary  Elliott.  "In  the  world,  but  not  of  the 
world ;"  with  quiet,  graceful  ease  she  moved 
about,  and  all  who  looked  upon  her,  felt  that 
the  mild,  holy  face,  the  tender,  saintly  smile  that 
lingered  upon  her  countenance  were  all  different 
from  the  assembled  throng;  for  all  understood 
that  she  had  no  sympathy  with  this  assemblage 
of  giddy  dancers. 

It  was  a  sad  evening  to  Mary — the  ghastly 
paleness  that  every  now  and  then  stole  over  her 
mother's  face  alarmed  her ;  for  the  quick  motions 
of  her  glittering  fan  indicated  shortness  of  breath. 
Papa  scarcely  left  her  side,  but  leaned  over  her, 
as  though  anxious  for  the  evening  to  close. 
Mary  saw  the  approaching  messenger,  and  never 


THE  SENHORA'S  BALL.  171 

more  plainly  than  when  looking  at  the  Senhora 
under  the  gaslight,  clad  in  her  magnificent  dress. 
The  sight  oppressed  her,  and  watching  her  op- 
portunity, she  passed  silently  into  the  garden, 
the  grounds  be'ng  thrown  open,  illuminated 
with  colored  lamps  and  Chinese  lanterns,  and 
glittering  with  the  rich  glow  worms  of  this 
tropical  clime.  Seated  in  the  pavilion,  she  was 
surprised  by  approaching  footsteps,  and  in  an- 
other minute  Philip  Austin  made  his  appearance. 
Fanny  and  he  had  both  been  invited,  but  had 
declined.  Passing  by,  Philip  had  observed  the 
gate  open,  and  entering  for  a  minute,  had  been 
looking  at  the  giddy  dancers,  and  thinking  of  all 
its  folly,  as  he  surveyed  with  mournful  gaze  the 
fading  lady,  whose  wedding  day  it  celebrated. 

"Oh,  Philip!  it  was  so  inexpressibly  sad,'' said 
the  young  lady,  "  that  I  could  bear  it  no  longer 
• — did  any  one  in  a  ball-dress  ever  look  as  my 
mother  does?"  and  she  burst  into  a  flood  of 
tears ;  "  but  I  must  not  stay  too  long,  I  dread,  I 
know  not  what ;  let  us  go  back  to  the  house/' 
and  taking  the  young  man's  arm,  they  returned 
to  the  upper  terrace,  where  they  stood  watching 
the  dancers,  with  their  dark,  flashing  eyes,  their 
splendid  jewels,  and  spangled  fans.  The  Senhora 
was  still  seated  in  the  same  chair,  but  nearer  the 
window,  her  husbard  fanning  her,  for  she  looked 


172  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

very  faint ;  suddenly,  her  head  fell  back,  and 
then  leaning  forward,  a  clear  red  stream  flowed 
steadily  from  her  ghastly  lips. 

The  Scuor  lifted  her  in  his  arms.  Mary  had 
seen  it  all,  seizing  Philip's  arm,  she  said, 

"  Come,  come,  my  mother  is  dying,"  and  with 
Philip's  help,  they  carried  the  two  to  the  Senhora's 
room,  for  Mary  had  fainted  also. 

All  was  confusion  below — the  company  speedily 
dispersed,  and  Charlotte  Rogers,  who  had  a  terri- 
ble dread  of  scenes,  hurried  away  with  the  crowd. 

Pedro  speedily  summoned  a  physician,  and 
when  he  arrived,  the  lady  in  her  ball  costume 
still  lay  insensible,  and  Mary  on  a  lounge,  where 
Philip  was  fanning  her.  Papita  was  soon  upon 
the  ground,  and  after  Philip's  departure,  Mary 
was  quickly  disrobed,  and  ready  to  wait  upon 
her  mother.  It  was  a  severe  hemorrhage,  and 
for  hours  the  Senhora  lingered  between  life  and 
death. 

Father  Benediceto  was  summoned,  and  when 
consciousness  seemed  returning,  held  up  the 
crucifix  before  the  lady.  She  took  but  little 
notice  of  the  act,  turning  her  head  awaj  and  clos- 
ing her  eyes,  while  her  lips  murmured  words  of 
prayer,  which  none  could  quite  distinguish,  save 
the  one  word,  "  Jesus." 

All  next  day  she  lay  in  her  costly  robes,  and 


THE  SENHORA'S  BALL.  173 

when,  at  length,  she  was  to  be  undressed,  the 
physician  himself  conducted  the  disrobing,  mo- 
tion was  so  dangerous  in  her  condition. 

She  could  not  bear  Mary  out  of  her  sight,  and 
the  presence  of  this  heretical  daughter  so  con- 
stantly around  the  Senhora  was  alarming  to  the 
priest,  for  he  had  learned  to  fear  her  influence. 

Mary  nev^er  forgot  her  daily  text,  and  once  or 
twice  her  mother  had  asked  for  its  repetition. 
They  were  always  passages  which  spoke  of  Jesus 
and  his  precious  offices,  and  who  knows  how  fast 
the  good  seed  thus  humbly  sown  was  taking  the 
place  of  the  tares  so  long  entertained.  For  weeks 
she  was  confined  to  her  room,  and  when  at  length 
permitted  to  seek  the  drawing-room,  it  was  to 
be  carried  down  by  her  husband,  and  laid  upon 
a  couch  purchased  especially  for  the  invalid. 

Her  thoughts  seemed  constantly  reverting  to 
the  days  of  her  youth,  to  her  parents,  her  sister 
Margaret,  and  the  associations  of  those  early 
years. 

One  evening  Mary  was  playing  "  The  Blue 
Bells  of  Scotland,"  of  which  the  Senhora  was 
very  fonJ. 

"  Where  did  you  get  those  sweet  silvery  vari- 
ations, Mary  ?  they  are  delicate  as  the  notes  of  a 
musical-box." 

The  daughter  smiled  as  she  replied. 
" 


174  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

"Impromptu,  mamma,  they  are  ny  own." 

"  That  was  my  father's  favorite  when  I  first 
began  to  play  ;  he  always  asked  for  that  or '  Auld 
Lang  Syne.'  I  feel  as  if  I  could  see  him  now ;  I 
don't  know  how  it  is,  but  the  words  that  he  used 
to  speak,  and  the  prayers  he  uttered  are  with  me 
every  day.  There  is  a  little  book,  Mary,  which  my 
Sunday-school  teacher  gave  me  once  for  good 
lessons — you  will  find  it  in  a  small  box  locked 
up  in  the  wardrobe ;  go  bring  it,  daughter." 

And  Mary  found  that  the  book  so  carefully 
kept  was  "  Daily  Food." 

Her  heart  was  full  of  hope.  Were  not  the  early 
lessons  of  her  mother's  youth  all  returning?  and 
might  not  the  seed  buried  so  long  yet  take  root? 

But  in  the  midst  of  these  daily  trials,  how 
was  it  with  Mary's  own  Christian  state?  A 
reference  to  the  diary  will  answer. 

"  My  hopes  are  fading — why  is  it  ?  I  have  so 
little  senee  of  acceptance  with  God,  so  little  com- 
fort in  prayer.  Have  I  been  sleeping  like  Chris- 
tian in  some  bower  of  ease,  and  lost  my  roll  ?  Or 
have  I  been  so  much  engrossed  by  daily  cares,  and 
depressed  by  anxiety  as  to  lose  my  hold  upon  the 
promises  ? 

"'I  cannot  live  without  Thy  light, 

Cast  out  and  banished  from  Thy  sight, 
Thy  holy  joys  my  God  restore, 
And  guard  ine  that  I  fall  no  more.' 


THE  SENHORA'S  BALL.  175 

"Like  Christian,  back  to  the  place  where  first 
I  missed  my  roll,  I  mast  go;  and,  prostrate  at 
my  Saviour's  feet,  will  not  go  until  he  bless  me." 

Charlotte  is  no  longer  a  Protestant ;  charmed 

O  ' 

by  the  music,  and  bewildered  by  the  pomps  of 
the  ceremonial,  she  has  given  herself  up  to 
Father  Beuediceto  to  be  guided  as  he  wills. 
Her  husband  smiles,  and  encourages  the  act, 
saying,  that  her  present  religion  is  most  con- 
venient, as  it  does  not  in  any  sense  interfere 
with  his  enjoyment  of  the  world,  for  Charlotte  is 
always  ready  to  join  him  except  on  fast  days. 

The  season  for  confirmation  has  arrived.  Viola's 
instruction  has  been  completed,  her  new  white 
dress  and  veil  have  been  purchased,  and  in  corn- 
pan}'  with  a  large  number,  the  little  girl  was 
made  a  recipient  of  this  rite,  and  by  her  side 
knelt  Charlotte  Rogers. 

"  And  this  is  the  something  else  that  she  was 
seeking,"  thought  Mary,  for  in  the  absence  of 
her  mother,  she  had  been  requested  to  go  to 
church  with  Viola  on  Whit  Sunday.  "Nothing 
but  leaves"  thought  Mary,  "and  even  these  are 
withered." 

"  I  am  so  sorry  we  can't  have  our  party,"  said 
Viola. 

44  AVhat  party  ?"  replied  Mary. 


176  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

"  Why,  mamma  always  promised  that  I  should 
have  one  on  the  day  that  I  was  confirmed ;  and 
now  she  has  changed  her  mind." 

"  Mamma  is  too  sick,  Viola." 

"Yes,  I  know,  sister;  but  that  is  not  all. 
Belika  says  that  she  don't  care  so  much  about 
parties  now." 

The  Austins  have  been  faithful  friends  during 
all  this  time  of  trial,  and  Philip  has  news  of 
Clarice. 

"  She  will  not  be  there  always,"  said  the 
young  man,  "for  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  she 
is  planning  her  escape.  It  was  only  last  week 
that  I  was  riding  by  the  convent  examining 
it  very  particular^,  when  I  perceived  in  a  very 
small  loophole  near  the  belfry  the  waving  of  a 
small  flag.  I  kept  my  eyes  fixed  there,  and 
in  a  moment  a  bow  and  arrow  appeared  at  the 
opening,  from  which  was  shot  a  slip  of  paper, 
on  which  was  written, 

" '  I  am  watched ;  I  must  escape ;  they  have 
found  my  Testament,  and  taken  it  away. 

"'CLARICE.'" 

"  Can't  we  help  her,  Philip?"  asked  Mary. 

"  We  must  watch  opportunities,  Mary.  I 
frequently  walk  by  the  convent  in  the  evening, 
for  it  is  but  a  short  distance  from  the  city." 

Mary  had  observed  that  two  sistors,  Beatrice 


THE   SENHORA"S   BALL.  177 

and  Agnes,  were  in  frequent  attendance  upon 
her  mother,  seeking  opportunities  to  be  alone 
with  her,  and  always  leaving  a  book  with  the 
Senhora,  but  she  also  observed  that  the  books 
were  seldom  read,  and  that  every  day  the  little 
book  of  Daily  Food  was  in  her  hands. 

The  padre  eyed  Mary  with  suspicion,  for 
he  was  quite  aware  that  her  silent  example 
was  working  in  the  Senhora's  household.  The 
bearer  of  the  gospel  was  under  that  roof  quietly 
but  powerfully  pervading  the  whole  mass. 

Mary  learned  some  of  the  old  German  hymns 
to  please  her  mother,  but  they  were  always  such 
as  sang  of  Jesus  and  the  power  of  the  cross. 
J'aul  Gephardt's  was  an  especial  favorite. 

"O  Sacred  Head,  now  wounded, 

With  grief  and  shame  weighed  down ; 
Now  scornfully  surrounded 
With  thorns,  thy  only  crown  ; 

"  0  Sacred  Head,  what  glory, 

What  bliss,  till  now  was  Thine  1 
Yet,  though  despised  and  gory, 
I  joy  to  call  Thee  mine. 

"What  Thou,  my  Lord,  hast  suffered, 

Was  all  for  sinners'  gain ; 
Mine,  mine  was  the  transgression, 
But  Thino  the  deadly  pain. 


178  WOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

"  Lo  ]  here  I  fall,  my  Saviour  1 

'  f  is  I  deserve  Thy  place, 
Look  on  me  with  Thy  favor, 
Vouchsafe  to  me  Thy  grace." 

And  thus  Mary  Elliott  dropped  tho  seeds  from 
her  own  ripening  ears,  and  thus  sweetly  she 
sang  the  gospel  in  her  mother's  hearing. 

So  in  dealing  with  her  brother  and  sister,  she 
did  not  attack  what  they  had  been  taught 
to  venerate ;  but  lived  the  gospel,  and  with 
holy  unction  held  up  before  them  the  precious 
doctrines,  before  which  darkness  and  supersti- 
tion must  fall.  As  the  walls  of  Jericho  fell 
down  by  the  simple  blowing  of  trumpets  for 
seven  days,  so  shall  the  citadel  of  error  fall 
before  the  simple  gospel,  for  God  is  with  both. 

No  need  of  arguing  and  preaching,  Mary 
Elliott — be  thou  but  the  silver  trumpet  in  thy 
mother's  household,  and  thou  shalt  rejoice 
hereafter,  also  wonder  that  Father  Benediceto 
lea  red  the  gentle  ministry,  and  that,  in  company 
with  Sisters  Agnes  and  Beatrice,  they  besieged 
the  Virgin  and  all  the  saints  that  the  house- 
hold might  be  kept  from  the  pollution  of  heresy. 

The  priest  still  came  monthly  to  receive  the 
Senhora's  confession,  and  to  administer  the  sac- 
raments, but  it  was  evident  .Mary's  hymns  wore 
more  impressive. 


THE  SENHORA'S  BALL.  179 

Belika  wondered  how  it  was,  for  she  feared 
that  her  lady  was  under  the  influence  of  the 
evil  one,  for  the  maid  observed  that  she  made  no 
use  of  her  rosary,  neglected  the  books  left  by 
the  sisters,  and  took  great  delight  in  Mary's 
hymns.  Belika  was  frequently  seen  to  cross 
herself  when  passing  near  the  temptress,  for  as 
such  she  looked  upon  Mary. 

Leon  and  Viola  were  daily  improving ;  it  had 
been  a  long  time  since  there  had  been  any  out- 
break of  temper,  and  their  sister  hailed  the 
signs  with  hope  and  trust. 

They  had  learned  to  repose  confidence  in  their 
sister,  revealing  many  secrets  that  were  not  in- 
tended for  her  ear. 

One  day,  the  children  came  running  to  Mary 
greatly  excited. 

"  If  you  won't  tell  anybody,  I  want  to  show 
you  something,  sister,"  said  Leon,  and  opening 
his  jacket,  he  produced  two  embroidered  pads, 
an  inch  and  a  half  square,  connected  by  a  double 
silk  cord.  On  one  was  the  Lady  of  Carmo  and 
child,  on  the  other  a  fanciful  figure.  Passing  the 
cord  over  the  shoulders,  one  pad  rested  on  the 
bosom,  the  other  at  the  back. 

"  What  are  these,  Leon  ?"  inquired  his  sister. 

"  They  are  Bentinhos.  Belika  told  the  padre 
that  you  wore  a  sorceress,  and  that  we  were  in 


180  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

danger  of  becoming  heretics:  and  so  those 
articles  are  sent  to  keep  us  safe.  Viola  has  one 
too." 

"  Do  you  believe  in  them,  Leon  ?" 

The  boy  stretched  up  to  his  sister's  ear,  and 
then  whispered  emphatically,  "No." — 

"  I  don't  believe  that  you  can  hurt  us,  sister," 
said  Viola,  "but  perhaps  some  one  else  might, 
and  so  I  wear  mine." 

"  When  I  am  in  danger  of  evil,  Viola,  I  go  to 
my  Father  in  heaven,  and  pray, 

"  Hold  Thou  me  up,  and  I  shall  be  safe  ;"  and 
then  He  says  to  me, 

"  For  He  shall  give  his  angels  charge  over  thee, 
to  keep  thee  in  all  thy  ways." 

"  We  pray  to  the  saints,  Mary,  but  they  never 
answer  us  iix  that  way." 


THE  CARNIVAL.  181 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

great  Bacchanalian  revel  is  draw- 
nigk,  when   the  whole  population 

seems  turned  into  a  heathen  community, 

lasting  from  the  first  of  January,  to  the 

beginning  of  Lent. 

The  actors  may  well  be  called  Bacchants,  for 
they  romp,  feast,  dance,  frolic  in-doors  and  out, 
playing  all  manner  of  tricks,  wetting  and 
powdering  one  another.  Thousands  turn  out  in 
masks,  some  on  foot,  some  in  carriages,  or  on 
horseback,  in  all  manner  of  grotesque  attire, 
accompanied  by  musical  and  unmusical  instru- 
ments, making  perfect  discord;  the  streets 
swept  and  strewn  with  mango  leaves,  the  house* 
illuminated,  dressed  with  evergreens  and  drapery, 
and  the  people  at  the  jalousies  throwing  out 
colored  balls  of  starch,  or  sugar  plums,  and  from 
countless  syringes  saturating  the  passers  by 
with  water.  One  is  reminded  constantly  of 
descriptions  that  we  read  of  old  heathen  revels. 

16 


182  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

The  Intrude  is  another,  which  commences  in 
the  latter  part  of  February,  lasting  three  da}r8, 
beginning  on  the  Sunday  before  Ash  Wednesday. 
This  is  especially  the  reign  of  folly,  when 
people  of  all  ranks  and  classes  join  in  sports. 
Indeed  festivals  an  1  processions  are  the  chief 
amusements  of  the  masses;  even  saints  come 
out  of  their  sanctuaries,  and  join  with  the 
padre  and  people  in  the  frolic.  A  close  observer 
cannot  fail  to  see  the  resemblance  between  pagan 
and  modern  Rome.  Call  the  churches  temples, 
and  the  saints  gods,  and  they  seem  almost  the 
same,  save  that  the  ecclesiastical  form  is  so  much 
worse  in  representing  or  rather  caricaturing  the 
Christian  religion. 

One  can  easily  understand  how  little  such 
a  gross  form  of  religion  could  influence 
a  character  moulded  as  Mary  Elliott's  had 
been,  in  the  spiritual  school  of  the  Redeemer. 

A  letter  to  Aunt  Margaret  will  best  describe 
her  impressions  in  this  land  of  darkness. 

"  DEAR  AUNT  MARGARET. — Just  two  years 
since  I  left  Hollyville,  and  in  that  space  of  time, 
I  have  been  living  in  a  new  world,  and  learning 
b}'  blessed  experience  the .  sweetness  of  trusting 
day  by  day  to  the  guiding  hand  of  the  Good 
Shepherd. 

"  My    pilgrim  steps   have   been  and  still   are 


THE  CARNIVAL.  185 

through  Vanity  Fair,  almost  in  a  heathen 
land.  The  dangers  which  heset  my  path  are 
not  from  the  false  religion  which  meets  me  every 
where,  for  that  is  too  gross,  but  from  the  dead- 
ening effect  of  the  worldly  atmosphere  in  which 
I  move.  The  Catholic  religion  is  a  totally  dif- 
ferent thing  here  from  that  which  we  see  in  the 
United  States ;  made  up  of  festivals  and  showy 
processions  of  superstition  most  revolting,  its 
appeals  are  all  made  to  the  senses,  and  the  lives 
of  the  priests  in  many  instances  are  scandalous. 
Even  papa  allows  that ;  consequently,  seldom  goes 
to  church,  and  shrugs  his  shoulders  when  he 
speaks  of  the  padre.  He  evidently  has  no  respect 
for  them. 

"How  my  mother  ever  could  have  been  en- 
trapped, puzzles  me  daily.  I  suppose  that  attach- 
ment to  her  husband ;  absence  from  all  home 
associations,  and  the  lack  of  a  real,  settled  faith 
operated  .all  together,  and  brought  her  into 
connection  with  the  Romish  Church,  but  I 
have  no  doubt  that  much  was  concealed  from 
her,  in  consideration  of  the  prejudices  of  a  Pro- 
testant education. 

"  I  hope,  dear  aunt,  that  its  power  is  weakening 
iu  her  case,  her  health  is  in  a  most  critical  state; 
but  the  teaching  of  her  early  days  are  returning. 
She  often  refers  to  those  happy  times,  recalling 


184  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

her  old  church,  her  childish  hymns,  and  religious 
associations. 

"  I  am  allowed  to  repeat  one  text  daily  in  her 
hearing,  but  it  is  kept  most  carefully  concealed 
from  the  priest.  It  is  the  subject  of  daily  prayer, 
dear  aunt,  and  may  we  not  hope  under  the 
silent  power  of  the  precious  word  of  God,  she 
may  yet  be  recovered  out  of  the  snares  of  Popery. 
The  superstitious  priests  and  servants  here  look 
upon  me  with  suspicion,  and  would  you  believe 
it,  that  the  padre  has  furnished  the  children  with 
charms  which  they  wear  upon  their  persons,  to 
shield  them  from  my  evil  influence?  And  here 
I  would  whisper  a  secret  which  Leon  confided 
to  me — they  have  no  faith  in  their  Bentinhos. 

"  I  have  lately  witnessed  two  of  the  dramas 
enacted  here,  most  shocking  to  Protestant  views'. 
The  first  on  Good  Friday,  representing  the  burial 
of  our  Lord,  consisting  of  a  procession  of  priests, 
one  bearing  a  black  wooden  cross,  over  the 
transverse  bar  of  which  is  hung  a  white  cloth 
folded  in  the  form  of  an  M —  signifying  death  or 
morte,  monks  follow  draped  like  the  cross-bearer, 
brothers  in  white  bearing  candles,  then  angels 
with  wings,  the  three  women,  or  rather  men 
disguised,  representing  the  three  Marys.  Then 
follows  the  bier,  in  the  shape  of  a  bedstead,  on 
which  lay  a  "  dead  Christ "  one  of  those  exposed 


THE  CARNIVAL.  185 

in  the  churches — borne  by  four  monks,  on  two 
staves  resting  on  the  shoulders,  each  carrying 
a  pronged  stick  to  support  the  load — when  all 
stand  to  hear  an  angel  chant,  then  come  more 
angels  led  by  brothers,  followed  by  a  girl  of 
fourteen,  who  mounts  a  pair  of  steps  chanting, 
and  opening  a  white  cloth,  the  handkerchief  of  St. 
Veronica,  then  brothers,  monks,  and  candles, 
angels,  monks  and  brothers  ;  then  most  conspicu- 
ous, "  Nossa  Senhora  "  in  purple  dress  and  silver 
rays  upon  the  forehead. 

"  The  band  of  music  followed  with  brothers  in 
albs,  and  last  of  all  the  soldiery. 

"  When  we  entered  the  church,  it  was  darkened, 
wii  h  but  one  candle  glimmering.  To  the  proces- 
sion already  described  were  added  the  Roman 
executioners,  the  centurion  in  golden  helmet, 
scarlet  tunic,  staff  surmounted  by  an  eagle,  then 
flocks  of  angels  again  ;  and  thus  the  most  solemn 
event  that  ever  transpired  in  the  history  of  the 
universe  was  dramatized  in  this  benighted  land. 
After  the  procession  came  Alleluia  Saturday, 
the  last  day  of  Lent,  when  the  saints  throw  off 
their  mourning,  screens  from  images  are  with- 
drawn, bells  ring  again,  and  Judases  are  torn 
to  pieces  in  the  streets.  I  witnessed  the  blessing 
of  fire  and  water  that  day.  After  baptism  the 
litany  of  the  sairts  was  read,  and  the  mass  as 
16* 


186  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

on  Palm  Sunday.  When  the  padre  came  to  the 
-words  'Alleluia,  Alleluia,  Alleluia,'  the  bells 
struck  up  a  merry  peal,  screens  before  the  images 
dropped,  a  burst  of  light  flashed  throughout  the 
church,  and  the  music  in  the  gallery  commenced 
a  triumphant  piece,  while  the  whole  church 
resounded  with  the  chant  of  '  God  is  risen  from 
the  dead '.'  The  padres  of  the  various  churches 
wait  for  the  signal  from  the  Imperial  Chapel, 
where  the  bishop  officiates.  As  soon  as  he  arrives, 
at  the  word  Alleluia,  rockets  are  sent  up; 
priests  contrive  to  be  near  that  part  of  the 
service,  ready  on  hearing  the  guns,  to  utter  the 
joyful  words ;  and  thus  ends  another  drama  in 
the  history  of  our  holy  religion. 

"  How  much  spirituality  is  left  behind  after  the 
long  fast  may  be  inferred,  when  one  views  the 
universal  license  that  follows  Lent.  If  there  is 
any  place  in  the  world  where  a  missionary  of 
the  cross  is  needed,  it  is  surely  here.  After  all 
this  mockery,  you  may  easily  imagine  what  a 
sweet  season  we  enjoyed  on  Easter  morning  at 
the  English  chapel.  Mr.  Austin,  the  minister,  is 
one  of  the  suit  of  the  earth,  eminently  spiritual, 
of  the  Wilberforce  and  Legh  Richmond  school. 
Protestants  of  all  names  attend  here,  for  there  is 
no  other  place  where  they  can  assemble.  In  the 
precious  bonds  of  a  common  faith  sects  were 


THE  CARNIVAL.  187 

forgotten,  and  we  all  listened  to  an  eloquent 
sermon  on  the  resurrection,  rejoicing  that  all 
whose  lives  are  'hidden  with  Christ  in  God,' 
*  shall  hereafter  appear  with  him  in  glory ' — we 
sang  the  sweet  Easter  hymn, 

"  '  Christ  the  Lord  is  risen  to-day, 
Sons  of  men  and  angels  say : 
Raise  your  joys  and  triumphs  high, 
Sing,  ye  heavens  and  earth  reply.' 

"  On  that  blessed  day,  thoughts  of  Letty  and 
Uncle  "Winslow  mingled  with  my  meditations, 
and  hopes  of  reunion  in  that  world  beyond  the 
grave,  filled  all  my  Sabbath  thoughts.  I  have 
just  learned  an  old  German  hymn,  and  on  retiring 
to  our  pastor's  house,  in  company  with  Philip 
and  Fanny  we  sang  the  sweet  words  of  the  hymn 
called, 

THE  LONG  GOOD-NIGHT. 

'*  *  Go  to  thy  quiet  resting, 

Poor  tenement  of  clay! 
From  all  thy  pain  and  weakness 

I  gladly  haste  away. 
But  still  in  faith  confiding 

To  find  thee  yet  again, 
All  glorious  and  immortal, 
Good-night,  till  then ! 

" '  Why  thus  so  sadly  weeping, 
Beloved  ones  of  my  heart? 
•  The  Lord  is  good  and  gracious, 
Though  now  he  bids  us  part. 


188  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

Oft  have  we  met  in  gladnes* 
And  we  shall  meet  again, 
All  sorrow  left — behind  us — 
Good-night,  till  then  1 

** '  I  go  to  see  his  glory 

Whom  we  have  loved  below  ; 
I  go,  the  blessed  angels, 

The  holy  saints  to  know. 
Our  lovely  ones  departed, 

I  go  to  find  again, 
And  wait  for  you  to  join  us, 
Good-night,  till  then  I 

'.'  "We  were  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  arid  Mr.  Aus- 
tin said, '  Have  you  any  waiting  there,  my  child  ?' 

" '  Yes,  a  father,  a  dear  uncle,  and  a  precious 
little  cousin.' 

"  *  And  we  have  two  dear  children,'  said  the 
father,  "  how  joyous  will  the  resurrection  morn- 
ing be !' 

"It  is  a  great  privilege  to  mingle  with 
this  Christian  family.  Fanny,  Philip  Austin, 
and  I  have  a  Sunday-school  in  the  chapel,  and 
the  Sabbath  is  my  white  day,  dear  aunt.  I  felt 
on  that  Easter  evening,  as  if  I  had  been  in  view 
of  the  '  Land  of  Beulah,'  had  been  favored  with 
a  glimpse  of  the  blessed  ones,  as  they  roamed 
through  its  blissful  regions,  and  could  almost 
hear  the  songs  of  triumph  which  swell  from  tho 
throng  of  happy  pilgrims. 


TIIE  CARNIVAL.  189 

"  "When  I  reached  home  it  was  such  a  contrast, 
for  the  children  had  an  account  to  give  of  the 
pageant  of  the  day  that  was  indeed  a  picture  of 
mockery.  Viola  was  full  of  excitement ;  poor 
little  girl !  how  little  she  knows  of  true  heart- 
felt piety ;  but  I  am  permitted  to  teach  them 
daily,  and  endeavor  to  drop  the  precious  seed, 
looking  to  Grod  for  his  blessing.  I  often  think 
of  the  green  island  out  on  the  broad  ocean,  where 
the  birds  scatter  the  germs  of  vegetable  beauty, 
may  I  not  do  the  same  in  the  moral  world? 

"  If  you  could  only  see  this  beautiful  country, 
you  would  mourn  with  me  I  know,  upon  the 
contrast  between  the  world  physical,  and  the 
world  moral,  in  Brazil. 

"  The  other  day  I  paid  a  visit  to  the  Botan- 
ical Garden,  with  Philip  and  Fanny  Austin. 
It  is  about  six  miles  from  the  city ;  hiring  a 
gondola,  not  a  Venetian  skiff,  but  one  in  which 
nine  of  us  could  sit,  we  went  swiftly  along,  until 
we  entered  a  lake,  communicating  with  the 
ocean,  on  whose  banks  the  garden  fronts.  "We 
passed  many  handsome  cott&ge  residences  on  our 
way.  The  garden  lies  between  Mount  Corcovado 
and  the  sea.  Many  of  the  plants  were  new  to 
me,  and  here  a  naturalist  might  actually  revel. 
There  were  gravel  walks,  and  trellis-work  seats 
surround  a  basin  where  a  beautiful  fountain 


190 

plays.  A  stream  two  feet  wide  flows  through 
the  grounds,  rushing  over  a  stone  channel, 
broken  at  one  place  into  a  miniature  cascade. 
Many  plots  are  covered  with  tea-plants,  and 
cocoas,  mangoes,  cinnamon,  cloves,  figs,  cacti, 
hamboos,  and  tamarinds,  and  palms  spring  up 
every  where.  After  rambling  about  in  this 
world  of  beauty,  we  rested  in  a  house-like  arbor, 
whose  walls,  roof,  door  and  window-frames  were 
made  of  dense  vines ;  built  upon  a  mound  it  is 
approached  by  steps  cut  in  the  ground  carpeted 
•vith  grass. 

"  Every  where  we  saw  the  broad-leafed  bananna, 
among  whose  branches  glittering  rays  of  green 
and  purple,  of  crimson  and  gold  flashed  upon 
the  sight  from  the  wings  of  tiny  humming-birds  ; 
while  gorgeous  butterflies  almost  tempted  one 
to  follow  them,  were  we  not  afraid  of  disturbing 
some  of  the  happiness  of  this  tropical  revel  of 
the  pretty  creatures.  After  rambling  three  or 
four  miles  farther,  we  returned  to  a  very  sumpt- 
uous dinner  prepared  for  as  at  the  inn  about  one 
mile  from  the  garden.  And  these,  dear  aunt,  are 
some  of  the  features  of  Brazilian  beauty,  luxu- 
riance every  where.  But  there  is  another 
feature  of  society  here  which  shocks  me  daily ; 
and  that  is  the  slavery  of  this  country ;  it.  would 
take  a  volume  to  describe  my  impressions,  but 


THE  CARNIVAL.  191 

when  I  meet  every  where  half-naked  negroes, 
degraded  to  mere  beasts  of  burden,  and  op- 
pressed to  the  lowest  pitch  of  human  misery,  I 
do  not  wonder  that  suicide  is  so  common  here 
among  that  wretched  class.  When  will  that 
better  day  dawn  upon  the  world  when  supersti- 
tion and  wickedness  of  every  form  shall  be  banished 
from  the  earth?  Yon  cannot  conceive  the  con- 
trast between  this  and  our  own  favored  land, 
where  the  light  of  the  gospel  shines  freely. 

"  I  suppose  that  you  would  like  to  know  some- 
thing  of  Charlotte  Rogers ;  we  do  not  see  each 
other  very  frequently,  for  she  is  no  longer  a 
Protestant ;  her  husband  has  followed  her  exam- 
ple from  motives  of  policy,  believing  that  it  will 
be  to  his  interest  in  a  pecuniary  point  of  view 
to  be  a  member  of  the  church  of  the  country. 
Charlotte  is  the  mother  of  a  sweet  boy  about 
one  year  old ;  sad  to  know  that  he  is  to  be 
brought  up  in  the  faith  of  this  darkened  land. 
But  to  turn  to  a  more  pleasant  subject.  I 
wish  that  you  knew  Philip  and  Fanny  Austin, 
they  are  just  what  you  would  admire  for  Mary's 
friends.  Philip  is  manly,  intelligent,  pious,  and 
a  kind  friend,  ready  at  all  times  to  take  me  to 
see  the  beauties  of  the  country.  We  often  go 
to  the  Larengeiras  or  Orange  groves,  a  most 
delightful  place  of  resort.  Palms,  bananas, 


192  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

orange  and  other  trees,  with  shrubbery  and 
flowers  every  where  abound,  snow-white  walla 
glisten  on  distant  hills,  a  romantic  brook  comes 
dancing  down  the  glen,  and  a  glorious  range  of 
mountains  bound  our  favorite  stopping-place. 
The  country  near  the  "  Agoa  Ferria "  exceeds 
all  the  rest  in  beauty,  and  in  this  particular 
neighborhood  it  is  our  delight  to  ramble. 
Sometimes  we  recline  under  tamarind,  mango, 
or  banana  trees,  and  partake  of  a  desert  furnished 
at  our  hands.  For  the  most  delicious  fruits  load 
the  trees,  and  all  that  we  have  to  do  is  to  knock 
the  fruit  which  forms  the  bower  above  us,  and 
can  thus  enjoy  a  most  sumptuous  feast ;  while 
every  variety  of  birds  with  their  gorgeous 
plumage  entertain  us  with  their  melody,  and 
butterflies  of  every  brilliant  hue  flit  around. 

"And  yet,  I  know  that  you  will  believe  me 
when  I  say,  that  I  would  willingly  exchange  all 
this  luxuriance  for  our  little  home  at  llollyville, 
with  our  changeable  northern  climate,  where  but 
one  pear  tree  adorned  our  grounds,  but  where  we 
sat  beneath  the  Shepherd's  tent  together. 

"  And  yet  it  would  be  a  trial  to  leave  the 
Austins,  for  I  love  them  very  much,  all  of  them 
but  Philip,  and  him  I  respect,  but  somehow  or 
another,  for  the  last  two  years  we  have  met 
weekly,  almost  daily,  and  seek  out-door  recrea- 


THE  CARNIVAL.  193 

tions  very  often  together;  to  the  Larengeiras, 
to  the  Botanical  Garden,  to  ride  on  horseback, 
and  Fanny  cannot  always  go,  so  Philip  and  I 
have  become  very  well  acquainted :  it  is  a  great 
advantage  to  associate  with  one  so  intelligent 
and  pious,  with  tastes  so  highly  cultivated.  He 
has  planned  a  course  of  reading  for  me;  lends, 
or  rather  brings  me  books  from  his  father's 
library,  and  I  find  that  his  choice  is  always  the 
best ;  and  then  I  have  learned  the  music  that  he 
selects,  and  we  sing  a  great  deal  together.  So, 
dear  aunt,  I  shall  miss  the  Austins  very,  very 
much ;  for  there  is  no  one  to  take  their  place 
exactly  even  at  Holly ville.  Ere  I  close  this 
long  epistle,  I  must  say  something  about  my 
brother  and  sister.  They  are  bright,  intelligent 
children,  but  have  naturally  the  warm  passionate 
nature  of  their  country  But  I  think  that  I  can 
see  i  mprovement ;  formerly  there  was  an  outbreak 
fron  i  either  one  or  the  other  once  or  twice  a  week ; 
nov  ,  it  is  much  more  rare,  and  though  some- 
tiin  3S  I  see  Leon's  dark  eye  flash,  and  his  cheek 
redden,  yet  have  I  also  seen  him  more  than  once 
coTiquer  the  rising  passion.  The  padre  does  not 
like  my  presence  in  the  school-room  with  the 
children ;  but  the  Senor  does,  and  says  that  he  will 
neve  •  transfer  the  charge  of  their  education  to 
any  one  else ;  he  wants  "  to  see  them  good,"  he 
17 


194  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

says,  and  likes  my  way  of  governing  them.  I 
have  great  hopes  of  both,  for  they  love  sister 
Mary  with  all  their  hearts. 

"My  warm  love  to  Mark,  Emily  and  the 
Butlers. 

"  This  is  a  long  letter,  but  I  have  not  said  the 
half  that  I  wish  to ;  perhaps  some  day  I  may  yet 
sit  down  by  dear  Aunt  Margaret,  with  her  hand 
clasped  in  mine,  and  tell  her  all.  Until  that  day 
comes  think  of  me  always  as  your  own  loving, 


SILENT   FOOTSTEPS.  195 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

SILENT     JtTOOTSTEI»S. 

jlJERE   is   a   conscious    presence   of    a 
solemn  messenger  at  Monte  Rosa,  the 
mother  is  declining  rapidly,  and  Mary 
is  now  never  absent  from  her  room  ;  late 
delusions   are  fading  imperceptibly,  and 
purer,  holier  messages  are  impressing  their  silent 
lessons. 

We  will  step  into  the  sick  room  on  one  of  her 
comparatively  comfortable  days. 

Her  chamber  opens  on  the  garden,  in  full  view 
of  the  beautiful  Bay  of  Rio. 

"Do  you  see  that  ship,  Mary?"  said  the 
mother,  "  I  wonder  if  it  is  going  to  our  native 
land." 

Her  attention  was  directed  towards  a  white- 
winged  vessel,  sailing  gallantly  out  of  port. 

"  Do  you  ever  desire  to  see  the  old  home  again, 
mamma?" 

"Yes,  indeed.  Did  Aunt  Margaret  ever  take 
you  to  our  homestead,  daughter?" 


196          NOTHING  BUT  LEAVES. 

"  Yes,  several  times ;  bnt  it  is  occupied  now  by 
Btrangers,  and  always  made  my  aunt  so  sad,  that 
she  has  made  her  visits  very  rare." 

"  I  was  thinking  last  night  of  the  old  family 
room  where  my  mother  used  to  gather  us  chil- 
dren around  her,  and  talk  to  us  of  heavenly 
things ;  the  words  of  one  of  our  childish  hymns 
kept  ringing  in  my  ears,  which  I  have  not 
thought  of  for  a  long,  long  time,  called  '  The 
Star  of  Bethlehem.'  Get  my  old  hymn-book,  Mary, 
and  read  it  to  me." 

Stowed  away  among  some  old  books  was  the 
worn-out  copy  which  contained  the  hymn;  in 
soft,  low  tones,  she  read, 

"  When  marshalled  on  the  nightly  plain, 
The  glittering  host  bestrode  the  sky, 
One  star  of  all  the  numerous  train, 
Can  fix  the  sinner's  wondering  eye. 

Hark !  hark !  to  God  the  chorus  breaks, 
From  every  host,  from  every  gem ; 

But  one  alone  the  Saviour  speaks, 
It  is  the  Star  of  Bethlehem !" 

"That  is  a  sweet  hymn,  Mary,"  said  the 
invalid,  "  it  is  strange  how  these  old  things  are 
coming  back  ;  almost  seventeen  years  since  I  left 
home,  and  great  changes  have  passed  upon  me 
here.  I  have  been  a  great  wanderer,  Mary  ;  but 


SILENT    rr*T«TEPS.  197 

the  new  faith  is  fading,  tb*  old  one  is  return- 
ing, and  strange  to  say,  it  -somes  to  me  in  the 
words  of  childhood." 

"It  is  a  blessed  way,  dear  mamma,  and  I 
trust  is  a  token  of  good  fro«x  our  Father  in 
heaven." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  your  auni  speak  of  Miss 
Archer,  my  old  Sunday-school  teacher?  She 
was  a  good,  patient  friend  to  me ;  I  remember 
now  how  my  worldliness  and  vanity  used  to 
pain  the  dear,  kind  soul ;  I  used  to  laugh  at  it 
then,  because  I  was  a  giddy  child,  and  thought 
only  of  this  world." 

"  Miss  Archer  is  living  still,  the  same  faithful 
devoted  Christian,  and  occasionally  comes  to  see 
Aunt  Margaret ;  I  don't  think  that  she  has  ever 
forgotten  you,  mamma." 

"  Now,  Mary,  what  is  the  text  to  day  ?" 

Mary  opened  her  little  book  and  read, 

"  And  He  is  the  propitiation  for  our  sins,  and 
not  for  ours  only,  but  also  for  the  sins  of  the 
whole  world." 

"  How  could  I  ever  think  of  any  other,  Mary  ? 
it  seems  as  if  I  had  been  living  under  a  dark 
cloud  for  these  long,  long  years." 

After  an  hour's  pleasant  intercourse,  Mary 
proposed  a  ride,  for  it  was  one  of  the  charming 
days  of  the  season,  and  carried  down  by  her 
16* 


198  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

kind  husband,  she  was  comfortably  seated  in  the 
open  carriage,  and  the  two  drove  off',  meeting 
the  sisters  Beatrice  and  Agnes  just  coming  in. 

Mary  bowed  politely  to  the  sisters,  who  re- 
turned the  salutation  by  a  cold  inclination  of 
the  head. 

"  I  wish  they  would  not  come  so  often,"  said  her 
mother,  "  their  visits  bring  no  comfort,  I  do 
not  want  to  hear  about  the  saints  now.  Do  you 
know,  my  daughter,  how  your  silent  example 
has  impressed  your  mother?" 

"No,  mamma,  it  has  always  seemed  to  me 
such  a  very  feeble  taper,  that  I  wonder  at  the 
grace  which  has  used  it  for  my  good." 

"  If  you  had  attacked  my  new  faith  by  severe 
remarks,  and  arguments  however  good,  I  should 
probable  have  risen  up  in  its  defence ;  but  you 
just  hold  up  your  beautiful  picture  of  real  piety 
by  the  side  of  the  tinselled  mockeries  that  I 
have  seen  so  long,  that  unconsciously  they 
have  become  more  and  more  repulsive,  while  the 
real  is  each  day  more  lovely  in  my  sight.  I  have 
remembered,  too,  the  humble  Christians  in  my 
own  land,  and  have  learned  to  think  that  there 
must  be  something  divine  in  a  faith  which 
produces  such  holy  fruits." 

"I  must  own,  mamma,  that  there  is  not  much 
here  to  lead  the  heart  to  heaven." 


SILENT   FOOTSTEPS.  199 

"  No,  Mary,  on  the  contrary,  every  thing  to 
draw  it  down ;  when  first  I  began  to  think  of 
these  subjects,  I  resisted  the  impressions,  and 
still  counted  my  beads,  and  prayed  to  the  Virgin 
and  the  saints ;  but  my  mother's  prayers, 
the  words  of  my  childish  devotion,  and  my 
father's  supplications  for  his  children  always 
resisted  me  at  these  hours,  and  many  a  time  I 
concluded  my  evening  devotions  with  the  dear 
old  words, 

"  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep, 
If  I  should  die  before  I  wake, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take." 

Mary  listened  with  a  full  heart  to  this  almost 
childish  account  of  the  Spirit's  guidance. 

"  When  you  first  came  among  us,  Mary,  I 
looked  forward  to  introducing  you  into  my 
world,  and  placing  you  in  a  station  of  rank  and 
elegance — and  there  have  been  more  opportuni- 
ties than  Ferdinand  de  Lagua — but  I  soon  found 
that  you  were  of  another  order,  and  although  at 
first  I  was  so  disappointed  and  vexed,  I  learned 
day  by  day  to  respect  the  consistency  of  your 
conduct,  and  to  love  that  dutiful,  affectionate 
daughter  who  has  been  the  light  of  m^  declin- 
ing days." 


200  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

Mary  took  her  mother's  hand  and  pressing  it 
to  her  lips,  said, 

"  Now  I  know  why  I  was  sent  to  this  far  dis- 
tand  land,  mamma ;  how  strange  it  seems  that 
such  a  very  humble  instrument  should  be  chosen 
to  bear  the  message  of  a  Saviour's  love  to  those 
dearest  to  me." 

They  were  now  riding  through  the  valley  of 
the  Larengeiras,  and  on  their  return  passed  the 
convent  where  Sister  Clarice  was  immured. 

"  What  a  pity  that  such  a  sweet  girl  should 
be  buried  there !"  said  the  lady ;  "  I  know  her  as 
the  sister  of  Ferdinand  de  Lagua,  who  is  her 
twin  brother ;  he  mourns  deeply  over  the  fate  of 
his  favorite  sister,  and  I  think  would  not  be  very 
much  shocked  if  she  were  to  escape."  It  had 
been  a  pleasant  ride,  and  whenever  the  Senhora's 
strength  was  equal  to  the  exertion,  Mary  and 
she  sought  this  exercise  in  the  open  air,  some- 
times accompanied  by  the  Senor,  who  was 
devoted  in  his  attentions  to  his  invalid  wife. 

The  priest  was  unremitting  in  his  attention, 
but  the  lady  received  his  instructions  in  silence, 
and  one  day,  when  Mary  was  absent  from  the 
room,  he  perceived  a  copy  of  Daily  Food  lying 
on  a  table  near  the  couch.  "  What  have  we 
here  ?"  said  the  padre ;  "  it  is  a  very  improper 
book  for  you,  Scnhora,  calculated  to  lead  you 


SILENT  FOOTSTEPS.  201 

away  from  the  faith.  "With  your  permission,  I 
will  remove  it." 

"  Not  with  my  permission,  dear  father,  it  was 
the  gift  of  a  dear  friend,  and  I  shall  never  part 
with  it ;  beside  it  contains  the  words  of  Jesus, 
and  that  is  what  I  want,  just  such  precious 
crumbs  from  the  Master's  table."  The  priest 
looked  daggers  at  Mary,  who  just  then  entered 
the  room. 

"  Where  is  your  crucifix,  Senhora  ?"  asked  the 
priest,  for  it  had  formerly  hung  over  a  small 
table  opposite  her  bed. 

"  I  believe  that  it  is  in  the  closet,"  was  the 
reply,  "  will  you  look  for  it,  Mary  ?" 

And  bringing  it  from  its  retirement,  she 
handed  it  to  the  priest,  who  hung  it  up  again  in 
its  old  place.  I  hope  that  you  do  not  neglect 
your  devotions,  Senhora?  The  absence  of  the 
crucifix  does  not  seem  as  though  you  were  faith- 
ful in  your  duties." 

"  I  can  worship  my  Saviour  without  a  crucifix, 
father,  but  it  may  hang  there,  it  can  do  no 
harm." 

The  priest  threw  up  his  eyes,  and  lifted  his 
hands  in  holy  horror. 

"  Heresy !  vile  heresy  !"  exclaimed  the  padre, 
"  you  have  listened  to  the  serpent  who  has  poisoned 
your  fakh." 


202  woTHisra  BUT  LEAVES. 


"You  are  mistaken,  father;  old  truths  are 
returning,  and  the  new  delusions  vanishing, 
melting  into  mist  like  that  of  the  Dismal  Swamp  ; 
the  true  light  is  shining  above  it,  and  by  that  I 
am  trying  to  get  back  to  Jesus  —  he  is  my  hope, 
my  all." 

The  priest  shortened  his  visit,  and  as  he  left 
the  room,  crossed  himself,  as  he  gave  a  parting, 
withering  glance  at  Mary. 

"  Go  bring  me  a  packet,  daughter,  that  you 
will  find  in  that  box  ;  ask  your  papa  to  come  here, 
and  then  leave  us  alone." 

Seated  by  her  side,  the  husband  read  the  paper 
which  bequeathed  the  sum  of  five  thousand 
dollars  to  Father  Benedicito  for  the  erection  of 
an  Orphan  Asylum. 

"  Now,  husband,  I  want  that  all  changed  ; 
have  the  paper  drawn  up  at  once,  and  let  the 
same  amount  be  left  to  my  daughter  Mary  for 
any  benevolent  purpose  that  she  may  wish  to 
aid  ;  I  can  trust  my  child. 

"  I  am  rejoiced,  my  wife,"  said  the  Senor,  "  for 
I  believe  that  in  her  hands  it  will  really  do 
good." 

"  There  is  another  subject,  husband,  which  I 
wish  to  talk  about  while  I  have  strength,  and 
that  is,  our  children  ;  Mary  has  thus  far  been  a 
great  blessing  to  them,  and  I  wish  her  to  have 


BILEXT   FOOTSTEPS.  203 

the  entire  charge  of  their  education ;  when  I  am 
gone,  you  had  better  take  them  to  the  United 
States,  where  they  can  have  the  best  advantages, 
and  above  all  things,  a  Protestant  education." 

u  That  is  just  what  I  desire  myself,  Helen.  I 
have  not  been  a  resident  for  more  than  three 
years  with  our  daughter,  without  being  con- 
vinced that  just  what  she  is,  I  desire  to  see  our 
children  ;  I  have  seen  religion  under  a  new  phase, 
Helen,  in  contemplating  Mary  Elliott ;  but  do 
not  let  us  talk  about  these  sad  things  any  longer, 
wife,  I  cannot  bear  it." 

From  this  day,  the  change  in  the  Senhora 
•was  rapid — confined  to  her  room  entirely,  but 
with  simple,  humble  faith  trusting  only  in 
Jesus. 

Belika  kept  a  strict  watch  by  her  bedside,  and 
reported  day  by  day  the  progress  of  affairs ;  the 
Bible  reading,  the  holy  heavenly  hymns,  the 
words  of  sweet  confiding  prayer. 

While  strength  remained,  the  mother  sent  for 
her  children. 

"  Come,  sit  near  me,  Leon,"  said  the  Senhora,. 
"  I  am  going  to  leave  you  soon,  and  I  have  much 
to  say  before  I  go — your  sister  Mary  will  have 
the  charge  of  your  education,  my  dear  children, 
and  you  must  be  obedient  and  loving  to  her ;  if 
I  only  could  believe  that  you  would  live  to  be 


204  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

like  my  daughter  Mary,  I  should  die  happy — you 
•will  go  with  her  to  the  United  States  to  be  sent 
to  school  there." 

Both  children  were  convulsed  with  weeping, 
for  they  loved  their  mother  dearly :  taking  the 
hand  of  each,  she  continued, 

"  Dont  cry  so,  my  darlings,  I  am  going  home 
to  my  Saviour,  I  trust.  I  have  no  hope,  no  confi- 
dence in  any  thing  but  Jesus — saints  cannot  help 
me  now,  the  Virgin  can  do  me  no  good,  but 
Jesus  is  all  my  hope ;  I  want  my  dear  children 
to  love  and  follow  him,  and  to  become  while  you 
are  young  his  true  and  loving  children — be  good 
and. obedient  to  your  papa,  he  will  miss  your 
mother,  but  you  must  comfort  him." 

Viola  threw  her  arms  around  her  mother's 
neck,  in  an  agony  of  tears,  and  Leon  turned 
away  to  hide  his  anguish. 

"Oh,  mamma!  mamma!  dont  leave  us," 
sobbed  the  little  girl. 

Fearing  the  agitation,  Mary  hurried  them 
from  the  room,  and  taking  her  Bible,  sat  down 
to  read  the  words  of  Jesus,  so  soothing  at  all 
times  to  her  departing  parent. 

The  parting  hour  came  at  length,  and  assem- 
bled in  the  dying  chamber  were  the  husband 
and  children,  Belika  had  stolen  out  to  summon 


SILENT    FOOTSTEPS,  205 

the  priest,  for  with  the  superstition  of  her  coun- 
try, she  believed  that  her  lady  could  not  depart 
in  peace  without  the  offices  of  the  Church. 
He  soon  appeared,  and  requesting  the  family 
to  leave  the  room,  he  approached  the  dying 
Senhora. 

"  They  must  not  go,  father,"  said  the  lady, 
"they  can  hear  all  that  we  have  to  say." 

"Not  the  words  of  confession,  Senhora," 
replied  the  priest. 

"  No,  they  are  made  to  God  only,  father,  from 
him  I  trust  that  I  have  obtained  pardon  and 
peace  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord." 

The  priest  held  up  the  crucifix,  but  the  lady 
closed  her  eyes,  and  turned  her  head  away. 

"You  die  in  the  faith  of  the  true  church, 
Senhora,"  said  the  father. 

"I  die  in  the  simple  faith  of  the  Gospel, 
father,  trusting  in  Jesus  only,  in  him  I  have 
peace." 

The  priest  took  his  departure;  and  alone, 
with  her  husband  and  children,  the  Senhora 
passed  away  quietly,  hopefully,  her  head  upon 
her  husband's  breast,  her  hand  clasped  in  that 
of  her  daughter  Mary. 

The  grief  of  the  children  was  violent,  and 
leading  them  to  her  own  room,  the  sister  laid 
them  on  her  b,d,  and  with  a  Rweet  soothing 
i* 


206  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

words  endeavored  to  comfort  the  bereaved  ones, 
who  at  length  cried  themselves  to  sleep. 

Returning  to  the  Senor,  Mary  found  him 
walking  the  floor  of  the  room,  adjoining  his 
own,  in  great  agony  of  mind,  for  dearly  had  he 
loved  the  wife  of  his  bosom. 

"  She  is  at  rest,  papa,"  said  the  daughter, 
"her  confidence  was  all  in  her  blessed  Savi- 
our." 

"But  what  shall  I  do  without  her?"  said  the 
afflicted  husband,  "  she  was  always  so  good  and 
devoted  to  me." 

"  I  will  try  to  comfort  you,  papa ;  but  there 
is  only  One  who  can  support  you ;  if  you  only 
knew  Him,  papa,  as  a  friend  and  sympathizer." 

The  funeral  was  given  into  the  hands  of  the 
sisters  who  directed  all ;  not  dropping  a  word 
about  the  heresy  of  the  Senhora's  last  moments, 
for  it  was  a  policy  of  the  priest  to  conceal  all 
such  cases. 

The  house  was  closed,  a  festoon  of  black  cloth 
and  gold  hung  over  the  front  door,  the  remains, 
according  to  the  custom  for  married  ladies, 
shrouded  in  black,  with  a  long  black  vail,  the 
arms  folded,  and  the  hands  resting  upon  the 
opposite  elbows,  and  candles  burning  at  the  head 
and  foot  of  the  coffin,  while  a  crucifix  lay  upon 
her  bosom. 


SILENT    FOOTSTEPS.  207 

Tlio  remains  were  committed  to  the  cemetery 
with  the  forms  of  the  Roman  Catholic  church, 
and  the  Seiior,  in  compliance  with  old  usages, 
paid  large  sums  of  money  for  masses  for  repose 
of  the  soul ;  not  that  he  had  much  faith  left  in 
these  observances,  but  considered  it  best  to  con- 
form to  the  customs  of  the  Church.  Mary  saw 
the  funeral  procession  wind  out  of  the  grounds 
of  Mount  Rosa  from  the  windows  of  her  own 
room,  and  felt  that  in  this  departed  one  there 
was  hope  of  a  blessed  resurrection. 

But  the  house  seemed  dreary  without  her 
mother — her  chamber  was  closed,  everything 
that  she  had  valued  carefully  put  away,  and 
about  a  week  after  her  departure,  the  Senor 
called  Mary  to  his  room, .and  laying  a  paper  in 
her  hand,  said, 

"  There  is  something  left  by  your  mamma, 
Mary."  Opening  it,  she  read  with  tearful  eyes 
the  bequest  of  five  thousand  dollars  left  to  her 
for  her  charities. 

"  How  good  this  was,  papa !"  said  the  daugh- 
ter, "  I  can  do  good  with  it  I  know." 

"  The  priest  was  here  the  other  day,"  was  the 
reply,  "to  inquire  about  his  bequest;  but  I 
informed  him  that  the  money  left  formerly  for 
the  Orphan  Asylum  had  been  devoted  to  another 
purpose." 


208  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

u  I  hope  that  you  did  not  tell  him  that  it  was 
left  to  me,  papa  ?" 

"  I  did  not,  my  child,  for  I  should  dread  his 
malice." 

About  a  month  had  passed  since  the  Senhora's 
death,  when  one  evening,  Philip  Austin  called 
to  see  Mary. 

"  I  have  great  news !"  said  the  young  man ; 
"  Clarice  has  made  her  escape,  and  is  in  conceal- 
ment with  an  old  woman  named  Carlotte,  who 
lives  in  a  very  retired  place  on  one  of  the 
hills  outside  of  the  city." 

"How  was  it  effected,  Philip?" 

"I  rode  frequently  by  the  convent,  always 
watching  the  loophole  near  the  belfry.  One 
morning  a  slip  of  paper  was  shot  out  containing 
the  words,  '  Be  here  to-morrow  at  the  vesper 
hour,  workmen  are  busy  at  the  south  wall,  there 
is  a  ladder  which  I  can  use  inside,  that  is  my 
hope.' 

"  I  went  at  the  appointed  time,  the  vesper  bell 
rang,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  head  of  Sister 
Clarice  appeared  at  the  top  of  the  wall ;  I  had 
brought  a  rope  ladder  with  me ;  throwing  it  up, 
she  descended— a  carriage  was  ready  with  two 
swift  horses,  my  sister  was  with  me,  and,  having 
made  previous  arrangements  with  old  Carlotte, 
we  drove  rapidK  to  the  cottage  on  the  hill. 


SILEXT    FOOTSTEPS.  209 

Fanny  had  brought  a  change  of  clothing 
with  her,  and  the  nun  was  soon  transformed, 
but  a  poor  emaciated  being  she  is,  with  harsh 
treatment  and  close  confinement  for  so  many 
weary  months." 

"Can  you  trust  the  old  woman,  Philip?" 

"  Yes,  Mary,  she  lived  with  us  once,  and  was 
a  faithful  old  servant ;  beside,  she  is  very  little 
of  a  Catholic,  and  I  know  will  not  betray  the 
poor  girl." 

"How  did  she  get  out  of  the  convent, 
Philip?" 

"  The  old  porteress  was  her  friend,  she  saw 
how  cruelly  she  was  treated,  and  left  the  door 
open  for  a  few  minutes :  Clarice  feigned  sickness, 
and  was  thus  absent  from  chapel :  the  old  por- 
teress was  to  be  found  insensible  by  the  door, 
with  the  keys  by  her  side  as  though  knocked 
down,  and  thus  Clarice  escaped." 

"How  will  she  be  supported,  Philip?" 

"  I  have  several  friends  in  Rio  who  will  help."  ( 

"  And  so  will  I,  Philip,  until  something  is 
done  to  insure  her  safety." 

"Will  you  ride  with  us  to  see  her?"  con- 
tinued the  young  man,  "  we  are  going  to-mor- 
row." 

"Call  for  me,  and  I  will  go.'* 

Early  in  the  morning,  Mary  provided  herself 


210  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

with  such  articles  of  clothing  as  the  poor  girl 
would  need,  and  thus  her  first  appropriation 
was  made  of  the  mother's  legacy,  for  the  Senor 
had  already  placed  in  her  hands  the  first  six 
months'  interest. 

Very  pale  and  sad  was  the  emaciated  girl,  her 
spirits  broken  by  her  long  confinement,  and 
Mary's  warm  heart  went  out  to  her  at  once, 
in  loving  sympathy. 

Starting  at  every  sound,  she  feared  discovery, 
for  she  well  knew  what  would  be  her  fate,  if 
returned  to  convent  life. 

Mary's  active,  benevolent  spirit  was  full  of 
plans,  and  on  their  return  home,  there  was  free 
discussion  of  the  different  arrangements. 

"I  wonder  if  we  could  not  trust  Ferdinand," 
said  Mary,  "  she  is  so  anxious  to  see  her  brother." 

"  lie  is  very  fond  of  her,"  replied  Philip,  "  and 
I  think  that  we  might." 

Accordingly,  Mary  sent  for  the  young  man. 

"  I  have  a  secret,  Senor  de  Lagua,"  said  the 
young  lady,  "  which  I  almost  fear  to  confide  to 
you,  it  is  so  very  important." 

"It  concerns  my  sister  I  doubt  not,  for  the 
city  is  alive  with  the  news  o";'  her  escape;  do  you 
know  where  she  is?" 

"  Can  I  trust  you  ?" 

**  Yo  i  may  fully,  Donna  Maria,  I  would  give 


SILENT   FOOTSTEPS.  211 

any  thing  to  see  my  sister,  for  I  love  her  very 
tenderly,  and  never  approved  of  the  harsh  treat- 
ment which  she  has  received." 

"  We  will  take  you  to-morrow,"  said  Mary. 

And  next  day,  in  company  with  Philip  and 
Fanny,  they  sought  the  lonely  cottage. 

Situated  at  the  bottom  of  a  deep  ravine,  and 
concealed  from  the  sight  of  those  on  the  top  of 
the  cliff,  by  high  trees,  no  human  eye  would 
have  detected  the  hut  without  a  clue. 

Leaving  the  carriage  on  the  cliff,  they  de- 
scended by  a  circuitous  path,  holding  on  to  the 
outstretched  branches  for  support. 

Inez  was  sitting  on  a  low  chair  in  front  of  the 
dwelling;  on  seeing  a  stranger  in  company  with 
her  friends,  she  started  to  escape  into  the  house. 

In  another  minute  she  was  folded  to  the 
breast  of  her  beloved  brother. 

"Ferdinand,  my  brother  1" 

"Inez,  my  sweet  sister!"  were  all  the  words 
that  could  be  uttered. 

The  two  sought  the  retirement  of  the  little 
room  occupied  by  the  nun,  and  there  she  poured 
out  the  story  of  her  persecutions,  her  wrongs, 
her  devoted  friends,  and  together  they  talked  of 
the  future. 

"  AY  hat  do  you  design,  Inez  ?"  said  the  brother, 
"you  cafinct  live  in  safety  long;  for  already 


212  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

they  are  on  the  search  for  you,  and  you 
the  fate  of  an  apostate  nun." 

Inez  clasped  her  hands  in  agony — "  I  know 
brother,  there  was  one  in  the  convent,  dreadful 
\vas  her  fate.  I  think  that  I  shall  leave  South 
America  with  the  family  of  Senhordos  Santos, 
who  are  going  to  the  United  States,  and  there  I 
can  support  myself  by  teaching  music." 

"It  seems  a  wise  plan,  Inez;  but  we  shall 
probably  never  see  each  other  again." 

"  That  is  my  grief,  brother,  for  you  are  the 
only  one  of  all  my  family,  who  retains  any  love 
for  poor  outcast  Inez.' 

"  Why  must  you  go,  sister  ?  can't  you  come 
back  again  to  the  church  of  our  parents  ?" 

"  Not  with  my  convictions,  Ferdinand,  and  if 
1  did,  it  would  be  to  be  immured  again  in  that 
dreadful  prison." 

"  That  is  true,  sister,  but  I  shall  never  cease  to 
love  my  dear  little  Inez,  and  remember  the 
happy  days  when  we  played  together  in  the 
sweet  orange  groves;  but  we  can  write  to  each 
other,  when  you  are  far  away .  I  don't  think  it 
euch  a  dreadful  thing  to  be  a  Protestant,  if  they 
are  all  like  Mary  Elliott,  Inez." 

News  of  the  Senhora's  death  has  reached  Aunt 
Margaret,  and  thus  she  writes, — 


SILENT    FOOTSTEPS.  213 

"Your  letter,  dear  Mary,  was  read  \vith 
mingled  feelings  of  grief  and  joy — grief,  that  1 
shall  see  my  dear  Helen  no  more  on  earth — joy, 
in  the  hopes  that  we  entertain  of  her  eternal 
blessedness,  and  in  the  prospect  of  having  you 
all  with  us  once  more  at  Ilollyville — even  our 
quiet  Emily  is  intoxicated  with  the  idea,  and 
dances  about  almost  wild  with  delight.  Nearly 
four  years  of  separation  have  made  great  changes, 
Mary.  Mr.  Butler  is  about  to  leave  for  a  new 
parish,  Mark  will  be  ordained  in  a  few  weeks,  it 
is  almost  certain  that  Harriet  will  go  out  to 
India  as  a  missionary,  and  your  Aunt  Oliver  is 
greatly  changed.  She  mourns  over  Charlotte's 
defection,  and  is  herself  I  doubt  not  treading  in 
the  Pilgrim's  path.  Mark  is  very  promising,  the 
people  of  the  parish  often  talk  about  him,  as 
successor  to  Mr.  Butler ;  he  is  twenty-four  now, 
and  his  character  rapidly  developing ;  it  would 
be  strange  if  you  should  find  us  at  the  Parsonage. 
We  shall  l^ok  for  you  early  in  the  autumn  ;  and 
then,  what  joy  if  God  spares  our  lives !  Come 
as  soon  as  you  can ;  I  do  so  long  to  see  Helen's 
children,  and  am  already  prepared  to  love  the 
Senor,  just  because  he  loves  my  Mary.  Emily 
joins  me  in  love.  God  bless  you,  my  beloved 
neice,  and  pra^  for  me  alwa}Ts  as  your  affec- 
tionate AUNT  MARGARET." 


214  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

HOME   FACES. 

r — Nearly  four  years  since  I   left 
home !    I  trust  that  I  have  been  permit- 
ted to  scatter  some  precious  seeds  in   this 
moral  island  of  the  sea,  for  I  have   seen 
some  of  the  green   shoots.     Ere   I   leave 
this  land,  I  would  review  with   humble  adoring 
gratitude  all  the  way  that  the  Lord  hag  brought 
his  child 

"Truly  has  it  been  through  the  noise  and 
tumult  of  Vanity  Fair. 

"Sometimes  its  jingling  bells,  and  tinselled 
glittering  toys  have  bewildered  me,  not  turned 
away  my  footsteps  from  the  paths  of  peace, 
but  introduced  images  of  vanity  and  sin  that 
have  disturbed  my  spirit,  and  marred  the  sweet- 
ness of  my  communion  with  heaven ;  but  there 
has  never  been  a  period  when  the  sanctuary  of 
my  own  room  has  failed  to  restore  my  peaceful 
hope  and  trust  in  Jesus. 

"  God  has  been  very  good  to  me  in  this  dark 


HOME    FACES.  215 

knighted  land,  in  providing  me  sucli  dear 
Christian  friends.  How  I  shall  mis&  the  Aus- 
tins! I  am  going  home  to  my  own  dear  coun- 
try, and  God  only  knows  if  we  shall  ever  meet 
again,  but  the  remembrance  of  the  dear  parlor 
at  the  Rectory,  our  rambles  on  the  Larengeira, 
our  rides,  our  visits  to  the  mountain  villa  will 
always  be  green  and  fresh  in  the  fields  of  mem- 
ory. The  remembrance  of  my  mother,  too,  is 
full  of  sweet  and  pleasant  thoughts — how 
changed  she  seemed !  how  like  a  little  child 
trusting  so  humbly  in  her  Saviour ! 

"  It  is  so  comforting  to  feel  that  I  shall  not  be 
parted  from  the  dear  children  ;  the  good  Senor 
seems  well  pleased  with  my  government,  and 
they  are  delighted  with  the  idea  of  a  new 
home,  like  all  children  pleased  with  novelty ; 
may  the  dear  Lord  go  with  us  and  bless  us 
all!" 

"Yesterday  was  my  last  Sunday  at  the  chapel, 
how  solemn  the  services  appeared !  the  good 
minister  very  tender  and  affectionate,  my  Sun- 
day-school class  so  sorrowful  at  the  parting, 
Philip  and  Fanny  full  of  grief.  We  attempted 
some  sacred  music  together,  but  our  voices  failed, 
for  we  may  never  meet  again  on  this  side  of  the 
better  land.  How  much  I  realized  that  here  we 


216  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

have  no  continuing  city,  and  that  this  life  is  only 
a  pilgrimage. 

"God  of  our  fathers,  by  whose  care, 

Thy  people  still  are  blest, 
Be  with  us  through  our  pilgrimage, 
Conduct  us  to  our  rest." 

" Philip  and  I  took  our  last  ride  to  the  Valiey 
of  the  Larengeiras;  how  beautiful  everything 
looked ! 

"  There  is  nothing  like  this  charming  country 
in  our  own  land. 

"We  sat  in  silence  under  the  orange  trees, 
and  then  with  hearts  full  of  emotion  reviewed 
all  the  past ;  Philip  promised  to  continue  the 
class  at  the  chapel. 

"  He  thinks  that  some  day  he  may  visit  us  at 
Hollyville,  for  he  expects  to  enter  into  a  mercan- 
tile firm  very  soon,  that  will  take  him  to  the 
United  States ;  that  was  a  pleasant  thought,  for 
I  could  not  bear  to  think  of  parting  with  the 
Austins  to  meet  no  more. 

"  He  gave  me  a  case  containing  a  picture  of 
himself  and  sister,  saying, 

"You  must  not  forget  us,  Mary,  when  you, 
reach  your  native  land.' 

"  I  promised  my  own  in  return. 

"  One  evening,  when  rambling  in  our  garden,  I 
pointed  out  to  Philip  my  favorite  rose,  saying, 


HOME    FACES.  21? 

*  Old  Pedro  planted  that  for  mo.'   These  partings 
are  very,  very  sad. 

"  Charlotte  Rogers  came  to  bid  me  farewell- 
how  strange  it  seems  after  a  lapse  of  four  years 
to  mark  the  change  which  has  passed  upon  her ! 
the  mother  now  of  two  lovely  children  and  yet 
devoted  to  the  vanities  of  the  world ;  she  seems 
to  have  forgotten  the  days  when  she  was  such 
a  rigid  professor  of  religion.  I  never  see  her 
without  thinking  of  the  barren  fig  tree,  and 
dreading  the  fate  of  that  which  bore  'nothing 
but  leaves.' " 

"  On  board  Ship — We  are  sailing  down  the 
beautiful  bay  in  sight  of  the  lovely  scenery 
around  Rio — how  strangely  we  are  constituted  ! 
for  my  heart  is  heavy  at  the  thought  of  seeing 
those  grand  mountains,  that  lovely  valley,  those 
charming  rambles  no  more. 

"  Why  is  it  ?  for  I  have  passed  through  many 
trials  in  South  America.  I  see  the  spires  of 
the  churches,  and  hear  the  bells  that  summon 
the  people  to  mass,  but  my  heart  is  travelling  to 
the  little  Knglish  chapel  where  I  have  been  fed 
with  the  bread  of  life,  and  to  the  dear  friends 
of  my  exile. 

"  There  is  something  for  me  to  do  on  board 
the  vessel,  for  Inez  needs  all  my  sympathy. 
19 


218  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

Her's  ia  a  sad  and  desolate  lot,  separated  perhaps 
forever  from  those  she  loves,  and  going  into  a 
land  of  exile  to  earn  her  daily  bread.  Her  part- 
ing with  her  brother  was  one  of  deep  and 
touching  sorrow,  he  paid  her  passage,  provided 
her  with  comforts,  and  gave  her  several  hundred 
dollars  to  supply  her  wants  until  she  was  fixed 
in  some  way  of  supporting  herself;  the  only  com- 
fort was  the  possibility  of  Ferdinand's  coming  to 
see  his  sister. 

"  Inez  speaks  broken  English,  and  I  shall  find 
abundant  employment  in  given  her  daily  lessons, 
for  she  can  do  nothing  until  she  speaks  the 
language.  I  find  my  thoughts  often  travelling 
back  to  Monte  Rosa.  I  hope  that  Pedro 
wrill  take  care  of  my  flowers,  he  is  a  kind  old 
man,  and  was  always  good  to  me  from  the 
first  day  that  I  came. 

"  The  house  must  look  very  desolate,  all  closed, 
excepting  the  rooms  used  by  Pedro  and 
Theresa. 

k'  We  are  speeding  on,  every  day  bringing  us 
nearer  and  nearer  to  America." 

The  Sefior  is  truly  a  kind  parent  to  Mary 
Elliott,  and  many  a  pleasant  chat  do  they  have 
on  their  voyage. 

One  fine  evening  they  were  seated   together, 


HOME   FACES.  219 

on  the  quarter  deck,  talking  in  this  familiar 
style,  while  the  children  were  playing  around 
them,  watching  the  gulls  resting  lightly  upon 
the  waves,  or  flitting  around  the  masts  of  the 
vessel. 

"  Leon  is  growing  to  be  a  fine  boy,"  said  the 
father,  as  he  watched  his  sports  with  his  sister. 

"  He  is  very  handsome,  papa,"  was  the  reply, 
"and  a  boy  of  brilliant  talents;  I  look  forward 
to  a  bright  future  for  him,  if  he  only  becomes  a 
real  Christian." 

"  He  is  a  smart  fellow,  and  I  often  laugh  at 
the  boy's  remarks  about  the  priests,  for  he  sees 
through  their  craftiness,  Mary." 

"I  have  not  taught  him  to  judge  harshly." 

"  No,  I  know  that ;  but  he  is  capable  of  draw- 
ing contrast,  and  we  have  all  been  occupied  in 
that  way  for  some  time,  Mary." 

"  If  I  could  only  hope,  papa,  that  you  would 
study  the  character  of  our  dear  Lord,  I  am  sure 
that  its  divine  power  and  holiness  would  lead 
you  to  seek  for  it  yourself." 

"From  my  boyhood  I  was  taught  to  study 
the  lives  of  the  saints,  and  but  little  was  ever 
said  to  me  about  the  Great  Master,  but  I  always 
knew  that  if  a  religion  had  been  sent  from 
heaven,  it  would  have  been  something  different 
from  what  we  see  in  the  priests  at  Rio." 


220  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

"There  is  a  better,  holier  example,  dea?  papa; 
promise  me  that  you  will  read  the  Ke\\  Testa- 
ment, for  there  you  will  see  holiness  in  all  its 
wonderful,  attractive  power." 

"  I  promise,  my  daughter,  but  I  have  been 
doing  that  already  for  some  time." 

At  length  the  cry  of  "Land  ahead"  waa 
heard  one  night  from  the  maintop,  and  Mary's 
heart  gave  a  bound  at  the  thought  of  home. 

In  the  morning  the  green  shores  of  her 
native  land  were  in  sight,  and  as  the  vessel  sped 
on  to  her  appointed  haven,,  each  familiar  object 
came  looming  up  before  her  with  all  its  loveli- 
ness, as  she  sat  gazing  in  silent  joy  at  the  spires 
of  the  city,  and  thinking  of  the  dear  village 
home  that  lay  beyond. 

Soon  landed,  there  was  no  delu}'  in  the  great 
metropolis,  and  by  the  earliest  conveyance,  they 
started  for  Hollyville. 

Aunt  Margaret  hud  not  been  notified  of  their 
arrival. 

Passing  swiftly  through  the  village,  Mary's 
liead  wras  constantly  stretched  out  of  the 
carriage  window,  and  as  they  swept  by  each 
familiar  object,  she  busied  herself  in  pointing 
out  everything  of  interest,  to  the  children. 

But  how  is  this  ?  the  old  house  is  closed,  it  is 
evidently  uninhabited. 


HOME    FACES.  221 

Driving  on  to  the  parsonage,  wild  Mag  is 
just  passing  it  at  the  gate — giving  one  hasty 
glance  at  the  travellers  as  the  carriage  stopped, 
she  rushed  into  the  house  to  announce  the 
arrival.  In  another  minute,  Mary  Elliott  was 
folded  in  the  arms  of  dear  Aunt  Margaret,  then 
of  Mark  and  Emily,  while  the  strangers  looked 
on  with  lieart-felt  sympathy. 

Somewhat  recovered  Mary  presented  her  papa 
and  the  dear  children. 

Aunt  Margaret  folded  each  in  her  arms,  for 
she  had  a  warm  corner  in  her  motherly  heart  for 
her  mister's  children. 

"  Let  me  introduce  my  friend,"  said  Mary,  aa 
she  brought  forward  the  trembling  Inez,  and 
the  good  lady  pressed  a  kiss  upon  the  pale, 
tearful  face,  for  she  had  heard  the  story  of  Sis- 
ter Clarice. 

Seated  at  the  table,  there  was  too  much  joy 
for  partaking  of  Aunt  Margaret's  good  cheer, 
for  as  Mary  looked  first  at  that  dear  relative, 
then  at  Mark  in  his  mature  an  J  serious  manhood, 
at  Emily  in  her  sweetness,  and  at  Mag  in  her 
decent,  well  ordered  deportment,  she  could  not 
restrain  the  brimming  tears  that  would  well  up 
into  her  eyes  at  the  consciousness  that  she  was 
once  more  at  home  vith  the  precious  friends  of 
her  early  days. 
19* 


222  NOTHING   BUI   LEAVES. 

"When  Mark  so  reverently  and  devoutly 
conducted  the  evening  worship  of  the  family,  it 
may  well  be  imagined  what  were  Mary  Elliott's 
emotion,  when  she  remembered  her  agency  in 
the  training  of  her  cousin. 

Ere  separating  for  the  night,  Aunt  Margaret 
called  Mary  alone  into  the  library. 

""Were  you  surprised  to  find  us  here?"  in- 
quired the  lady. 

"  Not  very  much,  for  your  letter  had  prepared 
me  for  the  change ;  how  long  have  you  been  at 
the  parsonage  ?" 

"  About  two  months,  and  Mark  is  very  accep- 
table to  the  people;"  glancing  around  at  the 
fine  library,  she  continued,  "  how  thankful  I  am 
that  I  never  sold  these  books ;  they  are  invalu- 
able to  Mark." 

Just  then  her  cousin  entered;  seating  him- 
self by  Mary's  side,  he  said, 

"  Well,  my  dear  cousin,  you  see  here  your 
good  work  completed ;  if  you  had  not  stepped 
forward  when  you  did,  I  would  not  have  been 
the  young  pastor  of  Hollyville  church." 

"  Don't  say  so,  Mark ;  you  know  what  I 
always  said  that  if  God  wanted  you  lor  a 
minister,  he  would  have  employed  somebody  to 
do  his  work ;  it  was  a  great  privilege  that  he 
deigned  to  use  Mary  Elliott." 


HOME    FACES.  223 

They  turned  their  eyes  to  the  calm,  holy  face 
of  Uncle  Winslow,  that  looked  out  upon  them 
from  the  frame  that  hung  over  the  mantel 
piece. 

"He  seems  to  smile,  Mary,  don't  he?"  said 
Mark. 

"  I  'wonder  if  he  knows,"  replied  his  cousin, 
"if  he  does,  it  must  be  another  source  of  bles- 
sedness in  the  world  above." 

"  How  did  you  leave  Charlotte  ?"  inquired  her 
aunt. 

"Well,  dear  aunt,  and  beautiful  as  ever,  but 
wholly  given  up  to  the  world,  and  quite  a  devoted 
Romanist." 

"  You  remember  what  I  told  you,  Mary,  these 
noisy  brooks  are  very  shallow,  and  I  always  feared 
for  the  genuineness  of  Charlotte's  professions, 
but-  your  aunt  has  a  comfort  in  8arah,  she  is 
growing  up  to  be  a  lovely  Christian  girl,  and  a 
most  excellent  daughter." 

"  What  an  interesting  nun  you  have  brought 
with  you,"  said  her  cousin,  "  with  such  a  sweet 
serious  face,  and  such  deep  melancholy  eyes." 

"  You  may  well  say  so,  Cousin  Mark,  she  has 
gone  through  deep  trials  in  the  profession  of 
her  new  faith,  is  cast  off  by  all  but  her  brother, 
and  we  must  extend  to  her  the  cup  of  cold 
water  in  the  name  of  our  dear  Lord." 


224  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

"  My  heart  opened  at  once  to  her,  Mary,  for 
every  glance  of  her  dark  eyes  asked  for  sympa- 
thy." 

"  She  has  remarkable  musical  talents,  her 
intention  is  to  teach  as  soon  as  she  can  obtain 
pupils;  papa  has  brought  the  children  here  to 
receive  a  Protestant  education,  and  she  will 
instruct  Viola." 

"Shall  she  teach  Emily  too,"  replied  Mark, 
"  she  is  quite  anxious  to  take  le.-sons  ;  we  have 
no  good  teacher  in  the  village,  and  it  was  only 
the  other  day  that  I  heard  Miss  Davenport 
regretting  that  she  had  no  competent  teacher 
of  music  in  her  school." 

"  Who  is  Miss  Davenport  ?" 

"  A  very  superior  lady,  who  opened  a  school 
here  about  one  year  ago,  she  has  been  quite 
successful,  and  would  employ  your  young  friend 
as  soon  as  the  present  term  expires.  But 
what  beautiful  children  you  have  brought, 
Mary!" 

"  They  are  dear,  loving  ones  to  me,  Mark,  but 
have  caused  me  great  anxiety ;  they  are  both 
such  warm,  passionate  creatures — Viola  is  much 
improved,  but  Leon  is  all  fire." 

"  What  a  fine  man  the  Senor  appears !"  said 
Mark. 

"  Yes,  cousin,  he  is  the  only  Portuguese  that 


HOME    FACES.  225 

1  have  seen  with  such  noble  qualities ;  he  is 
very  sensible  too,  and  a  most  affectionate  father 
to  me." 

"  Is  he  still  a  Romanist,  Mary  ?" 

"  His  mind  is  awaking,  Mark,  he  has  long  been 
a  very  careless  Catholic,  seldom  going  to  church, 
but  is  now  reading  the  Testament  daily  ;  he  is  a 
most  candid  man,  loving  the  good  wherever  he 
Bees  it;  but  where  is  Mr.  Butler ?" 

"He  has  taken  charge  of  a  city  church. 
Harriet  is  really  preparing  to  go  to  India  with 
Mr.  Armstrong ;  it  has  been  a  great  trial  to  give 
her  up,  but  her  parents  are  reconciled  now." 

"  I  am  not  much  surprised,  Mark,  for  she  was 
always  so  much  interested  in  missions ;  how  I 
should  like  to  see  her !" 

"  She  will  come  as  soon  as  she  hears  of  your 
arrival,  for  she  is  as  anxious  as  yourself  to  meet 
her  old  friend." 

The  family  were  soon  domesticated,  the  Senor 
furnished  two  rooms  handsomely  for  his  chil- 
dren, purchased  a  piano  for  Viola,  and  soon  the 
lessons  were  commenced  ;  Mary  instructing  the 
child  also  until  the  commencement  of  the 
next  term,  for  papa  would  remain  with  them 
for  some  months. 

There  was  much  of  an  amusing  character  in 
these  first  few  months,  for  every  thing  was  so 


NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

different  from  their  Brazilian  home,  that  ques 
tions  of  the  oddest  kind  were  continually  occur- 
ring ;  and  wild  Mag  seemed  as  if  she  would  never 
cease  to  wonder  at  the  strange  looking  children, 
peeping  in  at  them  on  all  occasions,  and  when 
one  imagined  her  busy  at  her  work,  many  a 
time  her  shrewd  face  and  small  dark  eyes  were 
seen  peering  behind  the  doors,  or  peeping  in  at 
the  windows  to  watch  them,  and  to  wonder  if 
they  were  not  something  "  pretty  much  like 
darkies  after  all." 

Their  first  visit  to  the  village  church  was 
quite  an  event. 

Mary  was  not  a  little  amused  to  see  that  they 
took  their  Prayer  Books,  and  when  they  entered, 
the  eyes  of  all  were  turned  upon  them  as  they 
made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  bowed  down  in 
front  of  the  pew,  as  they  had  always  done  at 
home. 

"  Had  you  not  better  tell  them,  Mary  ?"  said 
Cousin  Mark,  "  that  this  is  not  our  custom,  it 
draws  unpleasant  attention  towards  them." 

"  I  thought  about  it  before  we  went,  Mark, 
but  concluded  that  it  was  best  not;  they  are 
very  observing  children,  and  will  imitate  what 
they  see." 

The  music  pleased  them  very  much,  and 
Mary  was  glad  to  hear  them  asking  how  to 


HOME   FACES.  227 

find  the  Lymns,  and  wanting  to  learn  them  at 
home.     Inez  was  in  a  new  world. 

In  a  pure  church,  where  she  was  permitted  to 
worship  God  in  the  spirit — it  was  to  her  like 
cool  streams  in  a  thirsty  land,  and  Mark's 
preaching  was  so  instructive,  so  spiritual,  that 
the  young  stranger  unconsciously  excited  the 
interest  of  all,  as  she  sat  with  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  youthful  preacher,  drinking  in  every  word 
of  the  new  Gospel  which  she  had  so  lately 
embraced.  The  Senor  too  was  a  constant  atten- 
dant, he  had  never  been  inside  of  a  Protestant 
church  before,  and  the  truth  in  all  the  power  of 
its  simplicity,  commended  itself  impressively  to 
the  conscience  of  this  almost  modern  Cornelius. 

Communion  day  was  a  most  impressive  season ; 
for  Inez  was  to  be  admitted  for  the  first  time, 
to  the  Supper  of  the  Lord. 

Seated  close  to  Mary,  her  devout  and  holy 
aspect  touched  every  heart,  as  for  the  first  time, 
she  pressed  the  simple  elements  divested  of  all 
the  superstitions  of  her  early  days. 

Simple  bread  and  wine,  impressive  emblems  of 
the  broken  body,  and  poured  out  blood  of  the 
Redeemer. 

Iler's  was  a  happy  borne,  for  each  Christian 
heart  beat  with  her's  in  sympathy,  and  Mark  was 
always  ready  when  he  heard  the  timid  knock  at 


228  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

the  study-door,  for  he  had  learned  to  look  for 
Inez,  and  was  glad  to  welcome  the  inquirer  with 
her  open  Testament  in  her  hand,  and  a  face 
beaming  all  over  with  earnest  questions.  Seated 
near  the  table,  her  dark  ejTes  bent  upon  the  floor, 
and  in  her  silvery  broken  accents,  asking  for 
instruction  in  the  way  of  life,  Mark  was  never 
tired  of  guiding  these  young  trembling  footsteps. 


LIFE   AT   THE   PARSONAGE.  229 


CHAPTER  XYL 

LIFE   -A.T  THE 


k  T  is  autumn  now,  and  the  cool  days  are 
hastening  on  —  the  strangers  are  struck 

with  the  beauty  of  this  northern  season, 

for  they  have  never  seen  anything  like  it 

in  Brazil. 

The  clear  bright  sky,  the  gorgeous  drapery  of 
the  forest,  the  delicious  dreamy  haze,  that  some- 
times, like  a  gauzy  veil,  drops  over  the  land- 
scape in  the  days  of  Indian  summer,  and  the 
glowing  sunsets,  all  tempt  them  out  of  doors. 

Often  their  rambles  extend  to  the  lily  pond, 
but  they  do  not  see  it  in  its  beauty,  for  it  is  not 
the  season  for  the  floating  lilies  ;  but  there  is 
much  in  the  vicinity  to  charm,  and  under  the 
broad  green  trees,  arid  beside  the  sparkling  water 
many  a  pleasant  hour  is  spent  by  the  family, 
listening  to  the  story  of  the  sweet  lamb,  who  so 
frequently  sought  this  cool  retreat.  Viola  especi- 
ally loved  to  talk  of  little  Letty,  and  once  said 
to  Mary, 

20 


NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

"  She  must  have  been  a  favorite  of  the  Virgin, 
sister,  was  she  not  ?" 

"  No,  Viola,  our  Letty  was  one  of  the  lambs  of 
the  Good  Shepherd,  taught  by  the  Holy  Spirit, 
and  early  prepared  for  heaven." 

"  Did  she  ever  get  angry,  like  me,  sister  ?" 

"  I  do  not  remember  it,  Viola,  but  suffering 
made  her  patient,  and  then  she  had  such  simple 
trust  in  Jesus." 

"How,  sister?     I  wish  I  were  like  Letty." 

u  She  believed  his  word,  and  went  to  him  every 
day  for  the  supply  of  all  her  wants ;  you  know 
the  Saviour  says, '  Come,  learn  of  me,  for  I  am 
meek  and  lowly  in  heart,  and  ye  shall  find  rest 
unto  your  souls.' " 

"  How  shall  I  go,  sister  ?"  and  Viola  drew  closer 
to  Mary,  and  looked  up  in  her  face,  with  her 
dark,  earnest  eyes. 

"  In  prayer,  my  child,  morning  arid  evening, 
and  whenever  you  feel  the  need  of  his  help." 

Leon  and  his  sister  were  members  of  a  blessed 
household,  here  they  saw  piety  in  its  purity  and 
loveliness,  not  marred  by  sourness  or  austerity, 
but  shining  forth  in  the  spirit  of  holy  love. 

For  a  long  time,  they  continued  to  use  their 
rosaries,  and  hung  their  crucifix  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  but  here  in  this  godly  family,  in  the  place 
of  the  Virgin  and  saints,  they  heard  of  Jesus  and 


LIFE    AT    THE    PARSONAGE.  231 

the  Holy  Spirit — they  saw  a  throne  of  grace 
erected  where  in  the  exercise  of  a  holy  faith, 
Mark  Winslow  bore  each  member  on  his  heart, 
looking  upward  to  the  Great  Mediator. 

The  peace  of  these  holy  hours  distilled  its  dew 
around  the  family  hearth,  and  gradually  the 
children  ceased  to  count  their  beads,  or  to  seek 
the  Fathar,  with  an  eye  upon  a  visible  crucifix. 
Pictures  of  the  saints,  and  stories  of  their 
wondrous  miracles,  faded  from  their  memory, 
and  in  their  place  came  stealing  into  the  cham- 
bers of  their  young  hearts,  holy  images  of  the 
love  of  Jesus,  pictures  of  his  birth,  his  childhood, 
his  ministry,  his  holy  life,  his  painful  death  of 
agony  for  them,  his  resurrection  and  ascension 
into  heaven. 

These  holy  themes  mingled  with  all  the  doings 
at  the  parsonage,  and  the  Senor,  Inez  and  the 
children  breathed  the  atmosphere  ot  holiness, 
almost  unconscious  of  its  power. 

Like  the  gentle  falling  of  snow  upon  the  fleece, 
or  like  small  rain  upon  the  tender  herb,  so  the 
showers  fell  around  the  dwellers  at  the  par- 
sonage ;  the  thoughts  of  another  life  in  all  its 
blessedness,  another  kingdom  in  its  glory  were 
ever  present  varieties,  and  the  Senor  felt  that  here 
at  least,  the  power  of  these  truths  was  realized. 

Thus  the  shadows  of  superstition  were  melting 


232  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

away,  before  the  light  and  purity  of  the  real 
gospel. 

As  the  time  of  the  Senor's  stay  grew  shorter, 
we  often  find  him  in  Mark's  study,  and  many  an 
hour  of  serious  converse  was  passed  by  the  two ; 
the  young  minister's  interest  deepening  daily, 
and  the  Senor's  inquiries  each  hour  of  a  more 
practical  character. 

After  placing  Leon  at  college,  where  Mark 
had  graduated,  the  father  prepared  for  a  return 
to  Monte  Rosa. 

The  warmJiearted  children  were  filled  with 
grief  at  the  thoughts  of  his  departure,  and 
nothing  but  a  promise  of  visiting  them  once  a 
year,  could  possibly  reconcile  them. 

His  absence  left  a  great  blank  in  the  family 
circle,  for  he  was  a  liberal  minded,  intelligent 
man,  and  ever  welcome  at  the  family  board. 

Viola  was  placed  under  the  care  of  Miss 
Davenport,  a  lady  well  qualified  to  conduct  the 
education  of  this  impulsive  child ;  her  home 
studies  were  under  the  eye  of  sister  Mary,  and 
she  improved  rapidly  in  her  English  education. 

Inez  was  installed  as  music  teacher  of  the 
establishment,  and  her  refined  and  gentle  man- 
ners, sweet  silvery  speech,  and  great  musical 
ability  soon  rendered  her  a  most  popular  and 
successful  teacher. 


LIFE    AT    THE    PARSONAGE.  233 

Mary  took  her  place  again  in  the  Sunday- 
school,  Viola  and  Inez  always  ready  to  accompany 
her;  at  the  head  of  the  Young  Ladies'  Bible 
class,  the  young  Portuguese  was  only  too  happy 
to  sit  as  a  learner  at  Mary  Elliott's  feet.  Yiola 
was  an  eager  listener,  for  everything  here  was 
so  new  to  the  young  stranger. 

One  evening,  they  were  seated  in  the  family 
parlor,  and  after  Viola  had  completed  her  lessons, 
she  turned  to  Mary  and  inquired, 

"  Do  you  never  have  any  church  processions, 
or  festivals  here." 

"No  processions,  Viola,  but  we  have  our 
festivals  too,  and  I  am  sure  that  you  will  enjoy 
them,  especially  at  Christmas." 

"  When  will  that  be  here  ?" 

"In  about  four  weeks,  Viola:  then  Leon  will 
De  at  home,  and  we  shall  have  a  holiday,  I  will 
send  for  the  Oliver  children,  and  you  shall 
have  a  grand  time." 

"Will  there  be  any  snow  then,  sister?' 

Mary  smiled  as  she  replied, 

"  I  cannot  promise  a  snow-storm  exactly,  but 
I  suppose  that  we  may  have  one,  for  that  is 
the  season." 

Next  day  was  very  cold,  and  the  South 
Americans  were  shivering  all  day,  from  the 
change  in  the  atmosphere,  scarcely  able  to  keep 
20* 


234  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

themselves  warm,  even  when  wrapped  up  in 
extra  clothing,  and  seated  close  by  the  tire.  In 
the  evening,  the  wind  arose,  and  Mary  looking 
at  the  leaden  sky,  remarked, 

"  It  feels  wonderfulh  like  snow,  Viola,  I  should 
not  be  surprised  if  we  have  some  by  to-morrow." 

"  I  shall  be  so  glad,"  said  the  child,  "  for  I  have 
never  seen  any." 

Earl}7  in  the  morning,  a  cheery  voice  roused 
her  cousin. 

"Look  out,  Mary !  everything  is  covered  with 
something  white,  and  it  is  falling  so  thick  and 
fast ;  is  that  snow,  sister  ?" 

"Yes,  Viola,  a  real  snow-storm,"  for  the 
feathery  flakes  were  tilling  the  air,  driving  in 
thick,  heavy  scuds,  covering  the  field  and  house, 
and  trees  and  fence  with  a  fleecy  mantle. 

"  Isn't  it  beautiful  ?"  said  Viola,  fairly  clapping 
her  hands  with  delight ;  "  shall  I  go  out,  and  see 
it,  sister?" 

"Yes,  Viola,  but  you  would  not  like  to  walk 
out  in  such  a  storm,  you  will  have  to  stay  at 
home  to-day  ?" 

After  breakfast,  the  child  was  standing  by 
the  window,  when  she  called  out, 

"  Look  here,  sister !  there  are  two  dear  little 
birds  hopping  about  the  window-sill ;  I  wonder 
if  they  are  not  hungry." 


LIFE    AT    THE    PARSONAGE.  235 

"  They  are  snow-birds,  Viola,  and  if  you  choose 
you  rnay  open  the  window  softly,  and  throw  out 
some  crumbs.'" 

For  sometime,  the  wondering  little  girl 
amused  herself  by  feeding  the  birds,  who  ap- 
peared quite  tame,  for  Mary  said  that  they  were 
yearly  visitors.  A  very  short  tramp  out  in  the 
snow  was  sufficient,  for  although  covered  with 
fur  and  woolen  clothing,  Viola  had  never  felt 
such  cold  before,  and  shrank  away  shivering 
from  the  rude  blasts. 

"What  are  you  so  busy  about,  sister?"  said 
the  child ;  for  in  the  evening  a  large  basket  was 
brought  out,  containing  flannel  anjl  wooling 
goods. 

"We  are  making  up  our  winter  hoods  and 
clothes  for  the  poor  people." 

The  four  ladies  were  soon  plunged  into  the 
depths  of  their  benevolent  work. ' 

"  Can't  I  help !"  said  Viola,  looking  on. 

"  What  can  you  cfb,  little  sister?"  said  Mary. 

"  I  think  I  can  sew  up  some  of  the  breadths," 
for  Viola  had  taken  some  lessons  in  sewing. 

"  You  may  try,"  said  Mary,  with  a  smile  of 
encouragement. 

With  her  gold  thimble  and  her  pretty  needle 
book  Viola  Avas  ready,  and  handing  her  a  child's 
shirt,  Mary  gave  directions  about  the  work. 


236  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

The  little  girl  really  did  feel  very  happy,  (for 
who  does  not?)  when  she  felt  that  her  lingers 
were  so  busy  in  preparing  a  warm  garment  for 
some  poor,  suffering  child. 

When  Mary  commended  her  work,  the  little 
seamstress  sparkled  and  smiled  like  a  bright 
warm  sunbeam. 

"You  may  make  it  all  yourself,"  said  her 
sister,  "  you  are  doing  so  well,  I  am  sure  that 
you  can  finish  it." 

"  Wouldn't  papa  open  his  eyes  to  seo  his  little 
Viola  making  a  petticoat  for  a  poor  child  ? 
Rich  people  don't  do  their  own  sewing  in  Rio, 
for  we  have  so  many  servants,  that  there  is  no 
need." 

"But  it  is  much  more  pleasant  to  learn  to 
be  useful,  is  it  not  ?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so,"  said  the  child,  with  a 
grave  look  upon  her  young  face,  "  shall  I  give 
them  away  myself,  sister?" 

"  Yes,  have  you  thought  «f  any  one  ?" 

"Little  Molly  Riggs,  who  belongs  to  Miss 
Oliver's  class — she  looks  so  poor  and  cold." 

Folding  the  garment  up,  she  carried  it  to  her 
own  room,  new  thoughts  stirring  in  her  young 
heart.  Thus  fell  the  gentle  dew  around  the 
little  girl,  sinking  gradually,  but  deeply  down 
into  her  spiritual  life. 


LIFE    AT    THE    PARSONAGE.  28> 

Let  us  turn  awhile  to  Rio,  and  the  Senoi.  A 
letter  from  Fanny  Austin  brings  all  before  us. 

"Eight  months  of  absence,  dearest  Mary, 
have  not  dimmed  the  memory  of  our  friend  at 
Monte  Rosa. 

"  We  cannot  tell  you  how  lonely  we  are ;  Philip 
and  I  go  very  often  to  the  garden,  and  pluck 
bouquets  from  your  favorite  rose-bush ;  we 
almost  always  have  some  flowers  from  your  old 
home  in  our  chamber  vases,  for  they  belong 
to  us  individually,  Mary,  not  to  the  parlor. 

"  The  other  day  we  called  upon  the  Senor.  who 
has  just  returned.  Everything  looked  so  sad; 
no  merry,  laughing  children,  no  interesting 
invalid,  who  was  always  to  be  seen  somewhere, 
no  "dear,  precious  Mary  to  meet  us  with  her 
gentle  smile — the  closed  piano,  the  silent  rooms, 
the  covered  pictures  all  spoke  of  loneliness  and 
sorrow. 

"  But  the  Senor  is  always  glad  to  see  us,  and 
visits  us  quite  frequently  at  the  rectory ;  papa 
and  he  are  becoming  good  friends,  he  never  goes 
to  St.  Sebastian's  but  has  come  several  times  to 
our  chapel ;  papa  thinks  that  he  is  in  a  very 
hopeful  state  of  mind;  you  should  hear  him 
speak,  dear  Mary,  of  the  silent  ministry  of  your 
four  years'  sojourn  at  Monte  Rosa ;  it  has  not 
been  in  vain,  I  am  sure ;  he  is  never  so  happy,  as 


238  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

when  speaking  of  you,  and  hopes  to  have  you 
with  us  all  again,  for  he  says  he  cannot  be  parted 
from  his  daughter. 

"  I  have  a  plan  too  in  my  wise  little  head,  but 
that  is  a  secret,  that  I  must  keep  all  to  myself. 
Philip  is  a  member  of  a  firm  which  I  think  will 
send  him  one  of  these  days,  to  the  United  States, 
so  that  you  need  not  be  surprised  to  see  him 
coming  with  the  Senor ;  perhaps  he  may  tell  my 
secret  then,  but  I  don't  know.  There  is  such  a 
contrast  at  Monte  Rosa — no  more  Sunday  ca- 
rousing ;  the  Senor  has  a  few  select  friends, 
whose  intimacy  he  cultivates,  but  they  under- 
stand that  he  does  not  entertain  on  that  holy 
day ;  they  all  admire  tlu  Senor,  but  shrug  their 
shoulders,  saying,  that  it  was  '  the  daughter 
Americana.' 

"  We  are  still  engaged  in  our  Sunday-school ;  a 
young  lady,  who  has  lately  come  among  us, 
supplies  your  place,  but  no  one  can  compensate  for 
our  Mary.  I  often  wish  that  we  had  a  superior 
teacher  at  Rio,  for  really  the  Protestants  have 
no  means  of  educating  their  children,  except  by 
Bending  them  to  the  United  States. 

"  Think  of  it,  when  you  return ;  try  to  bring  one 
with  you,  who  will  not  only  beii  teacher,  but.  a: 
missionary  in  this  benighted  land.  1  am  sure 
~.hat  there  would  be  encouragement ;  I  have  two 


LIFE    AT    THE    PARSONAGE.  239 

families  at  least  who  would  patronize  a  school 
of  high  order. 

"  Papa  and  mamma  send  their  love ;  Philip 
desires  to  be  remembered,  he  bids  me  say  that 
he  has  not  given  up  the  idea  of  seeing  you  once 
more  at  Monte  Rosa;  till  then,  remember  as 
your  most  devoted  friend. 

"  FANNY  L.  AUSTIN." 

Mary  sat  with  her  letter  in  her  hand,  and  eyes 
bent  thoughtfully  upon  the  floor.  She  -was  once- 
more  in  the  sweet  garden,  rambling  in  the  valley 
of  the  Larengeiras,  seated  beneath  its  orange 
trees,  enjoying  the  mountain  air  at  the  pleasant 
little  villa,  or  domesticated  with  the  Austins, 
making  one  of  their  dear  family  circle. 

Almost  unconsciously  she  whispered, 

"  At  Monte  Rosa  again !  who  knows  what 
may  be?  the  thought  is  pleasant;  for  I  could 
not  bear  to  be  parted  from  the  dear  children,  and 
the  thought  of  reunion  with  the  Austins  is  a 
sweet,  bright  dream." 

Leon  is  giving  great  satisfaction  to  his  instruc- 
tors with  regard  to  his  intellectual  advancement, 
but  much  anxiety  for  his  spiritual  state.  The 
same  fierce  temper  still  exhibits  itself,  though 
not  so  frequently  as  formerly,  but  its  violence 
gives  occasiou  of  alarm  when  it  does  occur. 


240  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

The  boys  know  his  infirmity,  and  take  plea- 
sure in  provoking  him. 

Dick  Allen  is  an  especial  torment,  and  Leon 
has  often  threatened  him. 

One  day  passing  Leon  in  the  hall  at  recess,  iu 
company  with  another  boy,  several  times,  with  a 
malicious  leer,  he  repeated  the  word,  "  darkey." 

"  Brazilians  are  all  dark  I  am  told,"  was  the 
reply. 

"  Not  so  dark  as  this  one ;  I  tell  you  he  is  a 
"  darkey !" 

Leon  heard  it  all — striding  up  to  the  boy,  with 
a  dark  frown  upon  his  brow,  and  fire  shooting 
from  his  dark  eye,  he  said,  "  Richard  Allen,  do 
you  mean  to  say  that  I  have  negro  blood  ?" 

"  If  you  choose  to  think  so,  you  may  attach 
what  meaning  you  please  to  the  word  '  darkey.' " 

Leon  was  on  fire — snatching  a  dirk  from  the 
breast  of  his  coat,  in  a  moment  he  plunged  it 
into  the  side  of  his  enemy. 

Richard  fell  bathed  in  blood ;  in  another 
moment  the  alarm  was  spread,  and  teachers  and 
boys  hastened  to  the  spot. 

•  The  bleeding  boy  was  carried  off,  and  Leon 
put  in  a  place  of  confinement  until  his  friends 
could  be  summoned. 

The  wretched  boy  was  in  agony,  for  the 
wound  was  dangerous,  and  no  words  could  paint 


"  Fire  shooting  from  his  dark  eye,  he  said."    Page  240. 


LIFE    AT    THE    PARSONAGE.  241 

the  remorse  of  his  silent,  lonely  hours.  Securing 
his  dirk,  for  the  President  was  afraid  of  self- 
destruction,  he  was  left  to  the  accusation  of  his 
own  conscience,  until  the  arrival  of  his  cousin 
Mark. 

When  the  young  minister  entered  his  darkened 
room,  he  found  Leon  pacing  the  floor  almost  in 
utter  desoair;  seizing  his  cousin's  hand,  he 
exclaimed, 

"  Do  not  say  that  I  am  a  murderer,  I  cannot 
live  if  Richard  dies." 

"His  life  is  hanging  upon  a  thread,  Leon; 
until  then,  there  can  be  no  relief  from  the  conse- 
quences of  this  rash  act." 

Seeking  the  President,  Mark  obtained  permis- 
sion to  take  him  home,  giving  bail  for  his  safe 
keeping. 

Bowed  down  with  anguish,  Leon  left  the  scene 

O  ' 

of  his  disgrace,  and  could  scarcely  endure  the 
hours  that  must  pass  ere  he  was  folded  to  his 
sister's  bosom. 

Mary  was  waiting  in  the  hall,  and  when  the 
carriage  drove  up,  received  the  boy  in  speechless 
grief. 

It  was  scarely  possible  to  pacify  Viola. 
Taking  him  by  the  arm,  Mary  lead  him  to  his 
own  room,  Viola  wringing  her  hands,  and 
weeping  in  childish  anguish. 


242  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

Loon  had  no  excuse  to  make,  his  self-reproacheH 
were  bitter  and  intense — that  was  hopeful. 

"  Has  Mark  got  the  dirk  ?"  said  the  boy. 

"  I  believe  he  lias,"  was  the  sister's  reply. 

"  Throw  it  into  the  creek,  Mary,  let  me  never 
see  it  again — this  dreadful  deed  has  cured  me; 
oh !  Sister  Mary,  is  it  too  late?" 

"The  last  news  was  rather  more  favorable, 
Leon,  but  it  will  be  several  weeks  before  we  can 
know  the  end." 

"Weeks,  sister!  how  can  I  endure  it?"  said 
Leon,  wringing  his  hands,  and  clasping  them 
over  his  burning  head.  "Feel  my  head,  Mary, 
it  is  on  fire." 

She  laid  her  soft  hand  upon  the  burning  brow, 
and  was  alarmed  at  the  violent  throbbing  of  the 
temples ;  the  eyes  too  were  blood-shot,  and  the 
pulse  like  a  mad  race-horse. 

She  had  him  quickly  undressed,  placed  quietly 
in  bed,  and  then  calling  Mark,  she  stepped  out 
into  the  entry,  and  said  in  hurried  accents, 

"  Go  at  once  for  Doctor  Holland,  Leon  is  very 
ill ;  no  time  must  be  lost." 

Returning  to  his  bedside,  she  applied  cold  ice- 
cloths  to  his  head,  and  mustard  to  his  wrists  and 
ancles,  but  the  fever  made  rapid  strides,  and 
when  the  physician  arrived,  Leon  was  iu  a  state 
ot  high  delirium. 


LIFE   AT   THE   PARSONAGE.  248 

Day  and  night  Mary  and  Mark  watched  by 
the  bedside. 

At  the  end  of  nine  days,  the  crisis  arrived ; 
the  fever  had  been  broken,  and  Leon  lay  with 
scarcely  any  indication  of  life,  almost  as  pale 
and  silent  as  a  sheeted  corpse. 

"There  must  be  perfect  silence,"  said  the 
doctor,  "do  not  leave  him  one  moment;  if  he 
only  sleeps,  his  waking  may  be  to  life  again." 

Oh  I  the  agonies  of  that  night — Leon  slept 
while  Mark  and  Mary  watched  and  prayed. 
Once  or  twice  she  looked  at  her  cousin  with 
quivering  white  lips,  as  she  touched  the  clammy 
hand,  and  thought  that  she  felt  no  pulse. 

Hours  passed  on,  Mark  praying  from  the 
depth  of  his  heart  for  the  li  fe  of  the  sufferer. 

The  taper  burned  low  in  the  cup,  the  gray 
dawn  began  to  stream  in  faintly,  and  Mary 
thought  she  heard  a  sigh — stooping  down,  all 
was  still,  profoundly  still.  "Oh!  Mark,  is  it 
over?"  sho  whispered.  "Be  silent!"  in  a  low 
suppressed  tone,  "  it  is  a  natural  sleep  now,"  and 
stooping  down  again,  Mary  heard  the  gentle 
breathing  like  that  of  a  sleeping  infant.  Bow- 
ing her  head  on  the  pillows,  the  big,  scalding 
tears  fell  silently  upon  the  case,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  more,  a  deep  sigh,  then  another,  then  a 
movement,  and  the  dark  eyes  opened;  reason 


244  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

was  in  its  throne  again,  for  there  was  conscious- 
ness of  the  presence  of  the  watchers,  as  he 
stretched  out  his  hand,  and  drawing  Mary's  to 
his  lips,  murmured,  "  Sister." 

"  Don't  speak  a  word,  Leon,"  was  the  quick 
reply,  as  she  commenced  administering  the 
draught  left  by  the  physician. 

At  that  moment,  the  room  door  was  gently 
opened,  and  a  pale  face  stood  at  the  opening.  It 
was  Viola,  too  agonized  to  speak. 

Mary  advanced  and  whispered,  "Leon  is 
saved." 

The  reaction  was  too  great,  and  the  child  fell 
fainting  at  her  sister's  feet ;  carrying  her  tp 
Inez's  room,  she  returned  to  the  sick  room.  Ail 
day  the  symptoms  improved. 

"  He  is  saved,"  said  the  doctor,  "  but  it  was 
hard  swimming  for  the  young  life." 

When  able  to  bear  the  news,  Leon  was  in- 
formed of  the  convalescence  of  the  wounded  boy. 

"  God  be  praised !  how  good  he  has  been  to 
me!  But  as  soon  as  I  am  able,  I  will  stand  my 
trial,  and  bear  my  punishment." 

"I  think  not,  Leon,"  said  Mark,  "Mr.  Allen 
will  not  prosecute  the  case ;  he  knows  how  often 
Richard  had  provoked  you,  and  now  that  he  is 
well,  and  you  have  been  so  near  to  death,  he 
thinks  abundant  expiation  has  been  paid." 


LIFE   AT   THE    PARSONAGE.  245 

"But  I  must  see  Richard,"  said  the  boy, 
"  there  is  something  due  to  him." 

And  in  Mark's  study,  clad  in  his  sick  wrapper, 
stretched  upon  the  couch,  pale  and  languid, 
Richard  Allen  was  brought  in.  Leon  raised  his 
full  dark  eyes  beaming  with  feeling  to  the  face  of 
his  enemy,  and  extending  his  withered  hand, 
said, 

"  Forgive  me,  Richard,  I  might  have  been 
your  murderer;  my  hot,  violent  temper  has 
nearly  destroyed  me." 

The  boy  looked  with  deep  emotion  on  the  pale 
face  of  the  speaker,  and  replied, 

"  I  too  have  something  to  acknowledge ;  I  knew 
that  you  had  a  violent -temper;  you  did  nothing 
to  provoke  me,  Leon ;  I  too  must  ask  forgive- 
ness." 

With  tears  in  the  eyes  of  each,  they  clasped 
hands  never  to  quarrel  again. 

It  was  the  turning  point  in  Leon's  life ;  every 
afternoon  carried  down  to  Mark's  study,  there 
was  such  a  pouring  out  of  the  young  heart 
with  all  its  throbs  of  real  penitence,  that  none 
could  doubt  that  through  the  deep  waters  of  a 
stormy  tempest,  Leon  was  sailing  into  a  harbor 
of  peace. 

The  deep  bay  window  looked  out  upon  the 
garden,  the  light  of  the  study  softened  Uy  the 


246  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

old  trees  that  screened  it  from  the  glaring  sun, 
and  Leon  knew  that  this  was  holy  ground,  for 
here  Mark  communed  with  his  Saviour,  and  the 
boy  remembered  how  Moses  felt  when  approach- 
ing the  burning  bush  ;  he  too  felt  like  taking  oft* 
his  shoes,  as  he  lay  there  with  his  hand  clasped  in 
sister  Mary's,  while  with  the  other  she  smoothed 
the  dark  locks,  conscious  of  Leon's  deep  affec- 
tion as  he  kissed  the  hand  that  comforted 
him. 

I  feel  just  like  a  child  that  has  been  out  in  a 
tempest,  sister,"  said  the  boy,  "  so  tired,  but  so 
happy.  I  have  thought  so  often  of  the  Saviour 
walking  on  the  sea  when  the  storm  was  raging, 
he  seemed  to  say"  to  me,  'It  is  I,  be  not 
afraid."' 

These  were  blessed  hours  when  the  gentle 
rain  fell  so  softly  upon  the  youthful  penitent, 
when  with  eyes  fixed  upon  Mark's  face,  he 
received  the  news  of  a  Saviour's  full,  free  pardon 
of  his  many  sins.  So  changed  was  Leon — so 
meek,  so  loving — who  would  doubt  that  through 
this  great  tribulation  he  had  found  his  way  into 
the  kingdom  I 


STRANGERS.  247 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

STRANGER.  S. 


"  Surely,  goodness  and  mercy 
have  followed  me  all  the  days  of  my 
life  ;  here  let  me  set  up  another  pillar  in 
my  pilgrim  path.  It  is  blessed  to  retrace 
the  steps  of  the  way  in  which  the  Lord  has  led 
me,  so  marked  are  the  guidings  of  his  gracious 
hands. 

"  Two  years  ago,  I  left  my  native  land  to  take 
up  my  abode  among  the  spiritually  dead.  When 
I  look  back  at  the  pages  of  my  diary,  they 
reproach  me  with  their  unbelief.  I  went  with 
trembling  footsteps,  but  the  hand  of  the  Lord 
has  pointed  me  all  the  way.  He  kept  me  near 
the  Shepherd's  tent,  he  spread  over  me  his 
banner  of  love,  and  held  me  by  his  own  dear 
hand.  Straight  through  .the  trials  of  Vanity 
Fair,  kept  from  the  snares  and  pitfalls  all  around, 
tf)  his  grace  be  all  the  glory. 

"  Great  trials  bring  great  comforts  ;  for  many 
a  vision  sweet  as  Jacob's,  with  only  a  stone  for 
bis  pillow,  has  been  vouchsafed  in  the  land  of  my 


248  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

pilgrimage,  glimpses  of  the  same  ladder  on  which 
angels  have  ascended  and  descended,  bringing  me 
their  heavenly  messages. 

"How  my  heart  mourned  over  my  mother, 
and  how  wonderfully  did  the  precious  seed 
scattered  around  her  daily  path  germinate,  so 
silently,  yet  so  powerfully! 

"  Then,  dear,  impulsive  Leon — how  great  the 
change!  he  has  gone  through  a  fiery  furnace, 
kindled  by  his  own  hot  passions ;  almost  con- 
sumed, but  the  dear  Lord  has  been  merciful,  and 
I  see  the  marks  of  renewing  grace  in  him  also. 
Self-distrust,  deep  humility,  earnest  desires  to  be 
spiritually  changed. 

"  When  papa  left  us,  it  was  with  bright  hopes 
we  bade  him  farewell.  Mark  had  several  inter- 
esting interviews  with  him,  he  says  that  the 
bulwarks  of  Popery  are  falling  around  him; 
indeed,  there  must  have  been  large  breaches  long 
ago,  he  is  so  ready  to  receive  the  truth.  Our 
own  Iiiez,  too,  is  such  a  docile,  gentle  disciple, 
growing  so  much  like  the  dear  Master. 

"But  time  rolls  on,  one  year  has  already 
passed  since  we  left  Rio :  as  the  work  of  educa- 
tion progresses,  I  am  reminded  that  the  time  of 
parting  with  the  dear  children  is  drawing  nigh. 
I  can  scarcely  bear  to  think  of  it,  but  this  care 
with  all  others  I  desire  to  commit  to  our  Father 


STRANGERS.  249 

in  heaven,  he  will  order  all  things,  and  I  can 
trust  him  fully." 

Leon  has  returned  to  college,  the  President  is 
well  satisfied  that  he  is  really  a  changed  boy, 
and  what  is  remarkable,  Richard  and  he  are 
devoted  friends. 

His  progress  is  henceforth  upward ;  the  old 
enemy  sometimes  returns,  but  the  spark  in  the 
eye,  the  tightening  of  the  lip  is  all  that  appears 
to  the  eye  of  man.  But  in  the  secret  of  his  devo- 
tional hours  there  is  many  a  conflict,  for  natures 
strong  as  Leon's  do  not  become  lamb-like  at 
once. 

There  are  white  days  at  the  parsonage,  and 
Christmas  is  one — we  will  let  Viola  describe  the 
holiday  to  papa. 

"  We  have  had  such  a  grand  holiday,  papa,  so 
much  better  than  our  processions,  even  when  I 
was  one  of  the  spangled  angels.  Leon  was  at 
home  a  whole  week,  it  was  so  cold,  but  then  we 
had  good  fires ;  a  large  stove  in  the  hall,  open 
fires  in  the  parlor  and  sitting-room,  and  Jack 
Frost  did  not  dare  to  blow  his  breath  upon  us. 
Sister  Mary  kept  her  secret  well,  she  did  not  let 
us  know  one  word  about  what  was  coming.  I 
knew  it  was  something  very  nice,  for  I  heard 
Margaret  knocking  at  Sister  Mary's  door,  and 


250  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

saw  her  with  her  good-natured  laugh,  hand  in 
bundle  after  bundle,  and  I  did  wonder  what  was 
in  them. 

"  Well !  Christmas  morning  came,  the  bells  of 
the  village  church  rang  out  a  merry  peal ;  after 
breakfast  we  were  all  invited  into  the  parlor,  the 
shutters  closed,  and  the  room  was  all  lit  up,  and 
dressed  with  bright  evergreens,  and  in  the  middle 
of  the  floor  stood  a  large  Christmas  tree,  dressed 
with  bright,  red  apples  and  colored  glass  globes, 
and  shining  all  over  with  colored  wax  candles ; 
but  the  best  of  all,  on  the  branches  were 
hung  the  prettiest  presents,  something  for  every 
body ;  for  Sister  Mary  says  that  Christmas 
brings  'good  will  to  men.'  I  thank  you  so 
much,  dear  papa,  for  remembering  Viola  when 
you  are  so  far  away  ;  how  did  you  get  the  gifts 
here  in  time?  I  suppose  that  sister  told  you 
about  it  before  you  went  away,  and  you  took 
pains  to  be  ready ;  the  guitar  was  a  perfect 
beauty,  the  little  watch  a  real  gem,  and  the  port- 
folio was  beautiful.  Every  one  seemed  so  happy. 
Inez  played  the  Christmas  hymn,  and  we  all 
sang  it  together.  The  little  Olivers  spent  the 
day  with  us;  we  had  a  grand  dinner,  turkey  and 
chicken,  cranberry  and  apple-sauce,  nice  vege- 
tables, mince  pie,  cranberry  tarts,  and  blanc- 
mange. In  the  afternoon,  Sister  Mary's  Sunday 


STRANGERS.  251 

scholars  came,  and  each  one  had  a  gift.  Now, 
was  not  this  really  '  good  will  to  men?' 

"  Some  more  little  girls  came  in  the  evening, 
and  Sister  Mary  and  Cousin  Mark  played  with 
us — the  minister,  papa ! — hut  it  did  not  make  me 
think  any  less  of  him  when  he  stood  in  the 
pulpit  next  Sunday ;  indeed,  his  sermon  seemed 
more  real  and  good,  for  I  knew  that  Cousin 
Mark's  heart  was  brimful  of  love,  and  that's 
what  made  him  play  with  the  children.  How 
I  wished  for  you,  papa,  for  you  never  saw  any- 
thing in  Rio  like  this  happy  day.  0 !  there  was 
something  else !  we  all  hung  up  our  stockings  on 
Christmas  eve,  and  Kris-Kringle  filled  them 
with  good  things.  I  like  the  Christmas  fun  a 
great  deal  better  than  the  Carnival ;  for  then 
every  body  just  wants  to  have  a  good  romp ;  but 
here  all  tried  to  show  how  much  they  loved 
each  other.  I  wish  you  could  see  Leon,  papa; 
we  never  have  any  quarrels  now,  he  is  such  a 
dear  brother;  I  think  he  will  be  a  very  good 
man,  and  I  know  he'll  be  a  smart  one. 

"  We  are  in  our  second  year  now  ;  I  am  trying 
to  learn  as  fast  as  I  can,  so  that  I  can  come 
home  sooner ;  not  that  I  am  not  happy  here, 
but  I  want  to  be  near  my  dear  papa.  I  want  to 
tell  you  a  secret,  papa :  I  never  pray  with  my 
rosary  any  more;  it  never  did  ine  any  good,  arid 


252  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

I  have  learned  to  come  to  my  Heavenly  Father 
through  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  not  through 
saints  and  the  Virgin. 

"  Good-by,  dear  papa,  I  shall  begin  to  look  for 
you  after  the  first  of  May ;  I  keep  a  little  book 
with  all  the  weeks  marked  in  it,  and  on  every 
Saturday  night  I  mark  one  more  gone. 

"Give  my  love  to  old    Pedro  and   Theresa. 
Sister  has  looked  over  rny  letter,  and  made  all 
right ;  there  were  a  good  many  mistakes,  but 
she  says  that  I  am  learning  pretty  fast. 
"  Good-by,  dear  papa ;  from  your  own 

«  VIOLA." 

Early  in  the  spring,  Mrs.  Oliver  announced 
the  expected  arrival  of  Charlotte  and  her  chil- 
dren, and  the  mother  was  busily  occupied  in 
making  arrangements  to  welcome  them.  She 
had  been  absent  nearly  six  years,  and  great 
changes  had  taken  place.  When  the  carriage 
drove  up  to  the.  door,  and  the  elegant  Mrs. 
Rogers  stepped  out,  the  mother  could  scarcely 
believe  the  evidence  of  her  own  senses,  so  great 
was  the  transformation. 

In  the  place  of  the  village  girl  in  her  primitive 
costume,  here  was  a  self-possessed  woman  of  the 
world,  with  two  sweet  little  girls,  who  shrank 
away  from  the  strangers  with  childish  bashful- 
ness.  And  what  shall  we  say  of  Charlotte's 


STRANGERS.  253 

emotions  upon  treading  the  floors  of  her  child- 
hood's home?  How  wa's  it  that  something 

o 

stifled  her  as  she  looked  around  ?  Here  was  her 
old  room  with  the  same  familiar  furniture,  and 
the  soft  cushion  upon  which  she  had  often  knelt 
in  the  days  of  her  early  profession — an  invol- 
untary sigh  escaped  her  lips  as  she  glanced  at 
the  mute  monitor. 

On  the  little  table  by  the  side  of  her  bed  was 
her  well-worn  hymn  book,  on  the  fly-leaf  of 
which  was  written,  "  Received  into  the  com- 
munion of  the  church,  May  8th,  18 — ,  Char- 
lotte Oliver."  Perhaps  she  thought  of  another 
record  that  must  meet  her  eye  on  the  great  day. 

"  Why  did  my  mother  place  it  here  ?"  said  the 
lady.  "I  suppose  to  remind  me  of  those  early 
days  ;  but  it  is  better  as  it  is,  for  living  as  we  do 
in  a  Catholic  country,  it  would  injure  my  hus- 
band's prospects  to  remain  a  Protestant." 

With  these  words,  she  hid  the  hymn  book 
away  on  the  top  shelf  of  her  closet,  and  replaced 
it  by  her  Roman  Catholic  missal.  Just  then, 
her  mother  knocked  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  voice  inside. 

"  Is  all  comfortable,  my  daughter  ?"  said  the 
mother. 

"  Very  nice,  mother,  only  a  little  too  much  like 
old  times." 
22 


254  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

"  Don't  you  like  to  think  of  those  days,  Char- 
lotte?" . 

"!N~o,  mother,  the  thoughts  are  disagreeable." 

"It  was  such  a  grief,  Charlotte,  when  we 
heard  that  you  had  changed  }rour  religion." 

The  lady's  countenance  fell,  as  she  replied, 

"  I  never  had  any,  mother.' 

"  How  is  it  now,  Charlotte  ?" 

For  a  moment  she  hesitated,  and  then  replied, 
"  The  Church  takes  care  of  me  now,  mother ;  in- 
deed I  don't  trouble  myself  very  much  about 
these  matters,  I  have  so  much  to  occupy  my 
time  at  home,  that  I  am  pretty  much  taken  up 
with  these  things." 

"What  things,  Charlotte?" 

"Company,  and  dress,  and  household  cares, 
and  servants." 

"  Are  you  happy,  my  daughter  ?" 

"About  as  happj'  as  the  majority  of  people, 
mother ;  but  let  us  go  down-stairs,  I  promised  to 
walk  out  with  Mary." 

Their  ramble  was  through  many  old  familiar 
lanes,  and  among  the  spots  dear  to  both  in  daya 
of  childhood. 

Mary's  enjoyment  of  these  was  keen  as  ever, 
for  their  memory  was  only  fraught  with  pleasant 
associations,  and  Charlotte's  were  full  of  accusa- 
tions, wiitten  upon  sky,  and  tree,  and  river. 


STRANGERS.  255 

On  their  return  home,  they  passed  by  the 
cemetery,  the  gate  of  which  was  open.  Mary 
led  her  companion  along,  until  they  arrived  at 
Matilda  Hope's  grave. 

They  stood  in  silence  by  the  dreary  spot,  and 
the  wind  sighed  mournfully  through  the  large 
willow  tree  that  bent  over  the  grave. 

Six  years  the  dust  had  slumbered  there,  and 
Charlotte  remembered  the  hopeless  deathbed,  the 
warning  evening  lecture,  and  the  sad  sentence 
that  rang  around  Matilda's  dying  bed — "  Cut  it 
down  why  cumbereth  it  the  ground  ?" 

They  turned  silently  away,  some  powerful 
recollections  were  stirring  the  depths  of  Char- 
lotte's heart,  and  Mary  was  thinking  of  that 
long  past  profession,  of  which  there  now  re- 
mained, "  nothing  but  leaves." 

Charlotte  walked  almost  in  silence  back  to  her 
home,  at  length  turning  to  her  cousin,  she  said, 

"  I  wish  that  you  had  not  taken  me  there, 
Mary,  it  has  made  me  feel  dreadfully." 

"  Such  thoughts  are  salutary  sometimes,  Char- 
lotte, for  we  are  only  mortals." 

The  spring  with  all  its  beauty,  is  budding  and 
bursting ;  the  front  grounds  of  the  parsonage  are 
fragrant  with  lilac  bushes  ;  joyous  birds  are  car- 
olling their  happy  songs  everywhere,  and  almost 


256  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

daily  the  ladies  of  the  family,  with  Viola  by 
their  side,  may  be  seen,  sometimes  at  the  violet- 
dell,  sometimes  by  the  lily-pond ;  occasionally 
Mark  is  with  them  in  the  afternoon,  but  not 
often,  for  he  is  a  busy,  earnest  pastor,  but  Viola 
did  so  long  for  some  pond-lilies,  that  one  day, 
the  minister  put  himself  to  some  trouble  to 
gather  some  for  the  Portuguese  child,  as  he  had 
often  done  for  little  Lett.y. 

She  thanked  him  with  her  full  dark  eyes,  and 
said, 

"  I'll  do  something  for  you,  Cousin  Mark." 

It  was  not  a  mere  promise,  for  in  a  few  weeks 
a  pretty  black  velvet  sermon  case  made  by  Viola 
lay  upon  his  study  table. 

He  smiled  when  he  opened  it,  and  read  on  a 
slip  of  paper, 

"From  Viola,  to  Cousin  Mark." 

"  This  is  the  fifth  of  May,"  said  the  child,  one 
morning  at  the  breakfast  table.  "  I  told  papa 
I  should  begin  to  look  for  him  soon  after  May 
began." 

And  sure  enough,  day  by  day,  Viola  counted 
the  days,  as  the  time  for  his  arrival  drew  near. 
One  evening,  the  family-assembled  in  the  sitting- 
Toom,  and  the  conversation  turned  upon  the 
Sefior. 


STRANGERS.  257 

"I  wonder  what  papa  meant  in  one  of  his 
letters,"  said  the  child,  "  for  he  wrote  that  ho 
had  a  surprise  for  us  all.  I  guess  that  he's  go- 
ing to  bring  us  a  paroquet,  sister." 

Just  then,  Margaret  put  her  head  in  the  door 
saying, 

"  Miss  Mary,  a  gentleman  wishes  to  see  you  in 
the  parlor." 

On  entering  the  room,  who  should  stand  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  but  Philip  Austin !  a  pre- 
sence wholly  unexpected. 

It  need  not  be  said  that  heart-felt  joy  dictated 
the  salutations  of  the  reunited  friends. 

"  Where  is  papa  ?"  was  the  first  inquiry. 

"  I  left  him  in  New  York  to  look  after  the 
baggage ;  Ferdinand  de  Lagua  is  with  us  ;  I  came 
on  business  for  the  firm,  but  could  not  tarry  in 
New  York." 

Seated  side  by  side,  the  affairs  of  Monte  Rosa 
and  the  English  rectory  occupied  an  hour  at 
least ;  Fanny's  messages  and  reminiscences  came 
iti  for  their  turn,  and  ere  Mary  left  the  parlor, 
she  knew  all  about  Fanny's  secret  plan  for  bring- 
ing her  back  to  Rio. 

Aunt  Margaret  was  pleased  with  the  frank, 
manly  bearing  of  the  young  man  when  Mary  in- 
troduced her  friend,  and   Mark,  too,  extended 
a  warm  hand  to  the  stranger. 
22* 


NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

Viola  was  growing  to  be  a  very  intei-esting 
girl  of  fourteen,  full  of  sprightliness  and  anima- 
tion, and  quite  a  favorite  pupil  with  [nez. 

She  had  tine  musical  talents,  and  for  several 
weeks  had  been  diligently  practising  that  she 
might  please  dear  papa  on  his  arrival. 

When  Philip  therefore  told  that  the  Senor 
was  in  Xew  York,  she  could -scarcely  restrain 
her  impatience. 

]^ext  day  the  gentlemen  arrived ;  Inez  was 
standing  at  the  window  of  the  second  story, 
when  the  carriage  drove  up;  the  door  opened, 
and  out  stepped  the  Senor — "  but  who  is  this  ?" 
for  a  younger  man  had  followed. 

"Ferdinand!  my  darling  brother !"  exclaimed 
the  sister,  as  she  flew  to  the  hall,  and  in  another 
minute  was  folded  in  her  brother's  arms. 

Two  years  had  made  great  changes  in  the  ap- 
pearance of  Inez ;  no  longer  pale,  sad,  and  ema- 
ciated ;  but  bright  and  blooming,  the  rich  glow 
of  health  tinged  her  olive  cheek,  and  beamed  in 
her  full  dark  eye. 

"  Let  me  look  at  yon,  Inez,"  said  her  brother, 
as  he  held  her  off,  "  nobody  would  ever  recog- 
nize the  poor,  disconsolate  nun :  I  need  not  ask 
if  you  are  happy." 

"  I  am  in  the  midst  of  dear  Christian  friends, 
with  whom  I  board,  have  plenty  of  occupation, 


STRANGERS.  259 

and  above  all,  dear  brother,  am  able  to  hear  a 
pure  gospel." 

"  Do  you  never  long  for  home,  Inez  ?" 

The  dark  eyes  swam  in  tears  as  she  replied, 

"  I  have  no  home,  brother ;  there  is  no  domestic 
roof  for  me  in  Brazil,  for  it  is  family  love  that 
makes  a  home." 

"  I  cannot  understand  the  religion  that  could 
banish  one  like  you,  on  account  of  religious 
opinions ;  I  must  own  that  it  puzzles  me." 

"  It  is  not  the  religion  of  our  Master,  Ferdi- 
nand ;  tUat  is  full  of  love,  and  holy,  heavenly 
charity." 

Sunday  came  around,  and  Inez  persuaded  her 
brother  to  accompany  them  to  church. 

Education,  not  conviction,  held  him  still  with- 
in the  folds  of  the  Romish  Church,  but  he  was 
candid  enough  to  see  the  beauty  of  Mark's  char- 
acter, and  therefore  to  listen  to  the  truths  wThich 
he  taught  with  respectful  attention.  The  sweet 
devotional  music  charmed  him,  for  Inez  presided 
at  the  organ,  and  Mary,  Emily  and  Viola  were 
members  of  the  choir. 

But  the  pomp  of  the  Romish  ceremonial  had 
been  so  constantly  interwoven  with  all  his  ideas 
of  public  worship,  that  he  could  not  feel  satisfied 
with  this  bald  absence  of  imposing  forms. 

Spiritual  union  with  the  Lord  of  the  sanctuary 


260  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

was  wanting,  and  therefore  Ferdinand  had  no 
•sympathy  with  the  simple  worship,  but  never- 
theless he  could  admire  the  sense  and  piety  of 
Mark's  preaching,  and  felt  drawn  to  him  not  so 
much  as  an  humble  Christian,  as  the  bold  and 
eloquent  man  preaching  with  power  the  verities 
that  he  believed. 

But  where  is  Charlotte  Rogers  during  all  these 
Sabbath  services  ? 

Not  in  her  former  seat  at  the  village  church, 
but  at  the  Cathedral  of  the  neighboring  metro- 
polis, where  her  love  of  pomp  and  artistic  music 
was  fully  gratified. 

The  few  weeks  of  the  strangers'  sojourn  at 
Hollyville  flew  too  rapidly,  and  after  their  de- 
parture Mary  is  found  with  her  Diary  open  again. 

"  The  pleasant  summer  sojourn  is  at  an  end, 
and  we  are  once  more  alone — never  so  very  lonely, 
the  parlors  seem  really  deserted,  and  I  cannot 
bear  to  open  the  rooms  occupied  by  our  visitors. 
Dear  papa's  genial  face  and  cheering  voice,  Fer- 
dinand's pleasant  society,  and  Philip's  sympathy, 
so  much  like  the  hours  at  Rio,  all  leave  a  blank 
not  easily  filled.  Then  dear  Leon  too  has  gone. 
I  can  scarcely  believe  that  he  is  the  same  fiery, 
passionate  boy  that  once  he  was ;  he  is  growing 
thoughtful.,  earnest,  intelligent,  and  I  doubt  not 
pious. 


STB  ANGERS.  261 

"  Papa  was  so  happy  to  be  with  Leon ;  it  was 
really  cheering  to  watch  the  two,  such  a  deep 
affection  binds  them  together.  Papa  was  seldom 
seen  without  Leon  either  walking  up  and  down 
the  piazza  or  parlor,  with  an  arm  thrown  round 
the  boy's  waist,  or  seated  on  the  sofa  in  the  same 
endearing  attitude ;  may  our  Father  spare  his 
life  to  bless  his  parent." 

"  His  love  for  Viola  was  scarcely  more  tender, 
all  the  difference  that  could  be  seen  was  that  his 
eye  rested  upon  Leon  with  pride,  as  well  as  love ; 
on  Viola  with  the  tenderness  of  a  mother :  she 
grows  like  mamma,  and  papa  said  one  day, 

" '  Your  mother  is  reviving  in  this  dear  child, 
Mary,  don't  you  see  it  ?' 

"  I  know  no  difference  between  him  and  a  real 
parent ;  there  must  be  something  very  good  and 
noble  in  the  Senor  dos  Santos,  to  rise,  as  he  has 
done,  above  the  prejudices  of  education,  and  to 
acknowledge  the  power  of  goodness  wherever  he 
sees  it. 

"  But  there  is  more  than  that  in  dear  papa ;  he 
desires  to  know  the  truth,  and  Mark  says  that 
whenever  he  came  into  his  study,  he  was  re- 
minded of  Cornelius,  for  his  whole  manner  was 
but  an  embodiment  of  the  spirit  of  the  centu- 
rion, when  he  said, 

u  *  Now  therefore  we  are  all  here  present  before 


262  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

God,  to  hear  all  things  that  are  commanded 
thee  of  God.' 

"  If  the  Spirit  is  his  teacher,  I  can  leave  it  all 
with  him. 

"I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  see  Phillip  again — 
papa  talked  a  great  deal  to  me  ahout  his  own 
future  plans,  he  says  that  he  shall  always  regard 
me  as  head  of  his  family,  and  does  not  dream 
of  separation ;  when  the  children  return,  he  says 
that  he  must  have  his  daughter. 

"  I  leave  all  with  my  Father  in  heaven ;  if  he 
has  work  for  me  in  Brazil,  he  will  make  my 
path  plain  before  me. 

"  Poor  Inez !  my  heart  bled  for  her  when  she 
parted  from  Ferdinand ;  but  one.  of  her  family 
to  love  her,  and  separated  now  from  him !" 

It  was  such  a  blessed,  happy  summer,  Ferdi- 
nand was  so  affectionate,  left  her  such  a  hand- 
some donation,  with  the  promise  to  come  again. 
It  has  been  an  oasis  in  the  desert  of  her  do- 
mestic life — not  in  her  spiritual,  for  in  that,  she 
is  led  by  the  Shepherd's  hand  beside  the  green 
pastures  and  still  waters  of  his  love ;  there  is  no 
desert  there. 

"  How  good  the  Lord  is !  here  is  Inez,  the  sub- 
ject of  such  domestic  trials,  but  favored  with 
Biich  secret  manifestations  of  a  Saviour's  love — 
others  more  favored  in  theii  social  relations,  are 


8TRAXGERS.  263 

the  subjects  of  distressing  doubts  and  fears. 
Truly,  'He  tempcreth  the  wind  to  the  shorn 
iarnb.'  'May  I  trust  Him  forever.' 

"I  have  just  had  a  visit  from  Harriet  Butler, 
with  Mr.  Armstrong;  they  came  to  bid  me  fare- 
well, for  they  are  about  to  sail  for  India.  How 
much  she  is  improved !  When  I  left  the  United 
States,  she  was  a  lovely,  interesting  girl ;  now, 
she  is  the  thoughtful,  earnest  woman ;  there  is  a 
look  of  hoi y  elevation  in  the  deep  blue  eye,  and 
a  cairn,  happy  smile  around  the  mouth. 

"  I  think  that  she  has  counted  the  cost  of  a 
missionary's  life,  and  that  she  is  ready  to  take 
up  the  cross,  and  bear  it  cheerfully  after  her 
Lord  and  Master. 

"  She  has  very  warm  affections,  for  when  she 
walked  with  me  through  the  rooms  of  the  par- 
sonage, where  she  had  spent  the  happiest  years 
of  her  life,  she  betrayed  deep  emotion,  an  1  said, 

'"Do  not  suppose  that  it  costs  me  nothing  to 
leave  my  native  land,  every  stone  in  this  dear 
old  house  is  precious  to  me,  aud  if  this  is  so, 
what  must  it  be  to  leave  my  parents  ?' 

"  Her  partner  is  one  of  the  devoted  followers  of 
the  Master,  following  Him  in  the  upper  atmos- 
phere of  the  Christian's  march,  willing  to  spend 
and  be  spent  in  the  service  of  the  Lord.  It  was 
delightful  to  spend  an  hour  in  his  society;  I 


264  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

thought  of  the  beloved  disciple  when  I  listened 
to  his  conversation,  and  felt  as  if  I  were  near  to 
one  who  v:as  a  bosom  companion  of  the  Lord 
Jesus,  and  as  if  the  atmosphere  of  the  little 
upper  Toom  in  Jerusalem  surrounded  Edward 
Armstrong,  not  waiting  only  for  the  descent  of 
the  Holy  Spirit,  but  actually  dwelling  beneath 
the  o'ershadowing  of  his  wings. 

"I  could  say  farewell  to  Harriet  Butler,  and 
bid  her  God  speed  on  her  pilgrim  way,  remem- 
bering the  shining  crown  of  those  who  shall 
'turn  many  to  righteousness.' 

"  It  may  be  a  short  and  shining  way  home  to 
glory,  and  very  soon  the  two  may  be  removed  to 
heaven,  but  every  fallen  missionary  leaves  behind, 
in  the  dreary  desert  of  the  world,  here  and  there 
some  scattered  gleams  of  imperishable  light,  shot 
out  from  the  Sun  of  righteousness,  at  last  con- 
verging into  streams  and  waves  and  floods  of 
light  until  it  brightens  the  whole  earth. 

O  O 

"  Blessed  privilege  to  be  one  of  the  scatterers  of 
these  immortal  rays ! 

"  God  directs  these  departing  Missionaries  to 
India, — whither  am  I  to  go  ?  perhaps  to  Brazil, 
to  bear  the  standard  of  my  Lord  in  an  humble 
way." 


THE  FULL   CORN   IN   THE   EAR.  265 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

'THE    IT-ULH.    CORN    IN    THE 


passing  seasons  bring  the  Senor 
still  to  visit  his  children — the  last  is 
approaching,  for  he  has  notified  Mary 
that  he  is  coming  to  take  them  home,  as 
soon  as  Leon  has  graduated.  She  is  deeply  ex- 
ercised as  to  what  is  duty ;  the  thought  of  part- 
ing with  these  two  is  scarcely  to  be  endured,  the 
final  leaving  of  dear  Aunt  Margaret,  Mark  and 
Emily  is  almost  as  painful. 

Leon  is  now  twenty,  and  Viola  sixteen ;  both 
full  of  happiness  at  the  thought  of  reunion  with 
papa,  but  troubled  at  the  doubts  which  still  hang 
about  Mary's  plans. 

Viola  is  constantly  hovering  around  her  sister. 

"Don't  send  us  away  without  you,  Mary," 
said  the 'young  girl,  "we  should  be  so  lonesome 
in  that  great  house,  and  what  should  we  do 
without  some  one  at  the  head ;  won't  you  promise, 
Mary?" 

"  Wait,  Viola,  till  I  see  papa,  we  have  a  great 
deal  to  say  upon  that  subject." 

a 


266          NOTHING  BUT  LEAVES. 

But  Mary  Elliott's  thoughts  were  very  busy, 
an  1  more  and  more  earnestly  did  she  pray  for 
guidance. 

The  Senor  is  here,  and  the  house  is  bright 
with  his  cheering  presence. 

Leon  has  graduated  with  high  honors;  Viola, 
too,  is  an  intelligent,  animated  being. 

The  father  has  good  reason  to  be  proud  of  hid 
children  ;  under  the  guiding  hand  of  Mary  Elliott 
and  Mark  Winslow,  the  foundations  of  a  Chris- 
tian character  were  laid,  and  the  Senor  may  be 
excused  for  his  pride,  when  he  saw  how  hand- 
some Leon  had  become,  and  how  lovely  was  the 
young  Viola. 

The  cheerful  spirit  however  gradually  van- 
ished, for  none  could  bear  to  think  of  the  part- 
ing. The  presence  of  a  young  and  joyous  crea- 
ture like  Viola  had  filled  the  house  with  melody 
and  sunshine;  and  to  Aunt  Margaret,  it  seemed 
as  if  half  the  household  would  flee  away  with 
her. 

"  Well,  Mary,  have  you  decided  ?"  asked  the 
Senor.  "  Remember,  my  daughter,  it  must  be  for 
life ;  have  \  ou  read  your  letter  ?" 

The  Senor  alluded  to  one  that  he  had  brought 
from  Philip  Austin. 

Mary  blushed  as  she  replied, 


THE   FULL    CORN   IN   THE   EAR.  267 

"  It  contained  serious  matter,  papa." 

"Yes,  I  know  all  about  it,  my  child,  it  was 
with  my  full  approbation;  Philip  Austin  is  an 
excellent  man,  he  is  with  me  now  in  business; 
but,  remember,  Mary,  that  decide  as  you  may, 
wo  cannot  be  separated ;  Monte  Rosa  is  large 
enough  for  us  all." 

Earnest  thought  sent  Mary  to  her  Diary 
again. 

"  I  am  not  to  be  parted  from  the  dear  children, 
Providence  has  decided  all  for  me.  I  am  to  be  the 
life-companion  of  Philip  Austin,  the  partner  of 
his  pilgrimage.  One  in  hope,  in  faith  and  aim, 
we  will  strive  to  kindle  a  light  at  Monte  Rosa, 
that  shall  guide  other  pilgrims  on  their  way  to 
heaven.  Mark  cannot  bear  to  think  of  my  go- 
ing away ;  Emily  is  in  quiet  distress,  and  Aunt 
Margaret  moves  about  so  silently,  just  as  she 
always  does  when  in  trouble.  I  feel  most  for 
Inez,  for  I  have  always  seemed  to  her  a  link  be- 
tween North  America  and  Brazil.  I  think  that 
I  can  persuade  Miss  Davenport  to  go  out  with 
me  to  complete  Viola's  education,  and  Philip 
writes  that  there  is  encouragement  for  the  com- 

o 

mencement  of  a  good  Protestant  school ;  perhaps 
there  will  be  in  this  way  some  use  for  my  legacy. 
In  my  early  days,  when  I  first  began  to  think  of 
usefulness,  I  always  dreamed  of  this  little  village 


NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

of  Hollyville  as  my  humble  sphere  of  labor,  but 
God  has  appointed  a  different  field ;  perhaps  he 
designs  to  use  his  child  for  some  good  in  another 
and  distant  land." 

"My  last  evening  at  Hollyville — how  ear- 
nestly Mark  prayed  for  us  all.  I  felt  that  there 
were  tears  around  that  family  altar,  I  know  that 
there  were  scalding  drops  upon  my  cheek,  but  I 
felt  comfort  in  the  thought,  that  morning  and 
evening  Mark  will  remember  us  at  our  Father's 
throne. 

" '  Blest  is  the  tie  that  binds 

Our  hearts  in  Christian  love, 
The  fellowship  of  kindred  minds 
Is  like  to  that  above.' 

"  Aunt  Margaret  was  busy  all  day  in  helping 
to  pack  our  trunks ;  it  went  to  my  heart  to  see 
Inez  handing  her  different  articles,  with  a  face 
bathed  in  tears.  I  could  not  restrain  my  own, 
when  I  saw  the  precious  love-gifts  from  Aunt 
Margaret,  Mark,  Emily,  Inez,  and  even  poor 
Margaret — everything  for  our  comfort  at  sea, 
and  such  nice  pretty  little  things  for  my  own 
room." 

It  was  a  silent  parting-;  even  Mark  could  only 
whisper,  "God  bless  you,  Cousin  Mary,"  and 


THE   FULL    CORN   IN    THE   EAR.  269 

Auut  Margaret  folded  her  child  in  an  embrace 
that  seemed  as  if  it  could  never  release  her. 

As  the  carriage  rolled  by  the  village  church, 
the  cemetry,  the  walks,  the  lanes,  the  pretty 
houses  with  their  neat  gardens,  love  drew  the 
picture  on  Mary  Elliott's  heart,  which  memory 
would  love  to  recall  so  long  as  life  should  last. 

Out  at  sea,  Mary  writes  again — 

"  How  mingled  are  my  emotions  !  so  much  of 
joy,  so  much  of  sorrow ! 

"  Leaving  far  behind  such  dear  friends  going 
to  others  so  tenderly  beloved.  How  different  are 
my  feelings  from  the  time  when  first  I  crossed 
the  ocean !  still  I  realize  the  guiding  hand. 

" '  God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way 

His  wonders  to  perform, 
He  p'.ants  his  footsteps  on  the  sea 
And  rides  upon  the  storm.' 

"In  sight  of  Rio — the  lofty  mountains,  the 
magnificent  bay,  the  enchanting  islands,  the  city 
spires !  but  my  heart  is  passing  them  all  lovely 
as  they  are,  and  flying  to  the  villa  out  of  town, 
and  to  the  friends  that  are  waiting  for  me  at  the 
dear  old  rectory.  God  bless  and  guide  me  in 
my  new  relations,  may  He  dwell  beneath  our 
roof  a  constant  guest,  sanctifying  all  our  joys 
and  sorrows." 
23* 


£70  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

The  Diary  ia  closed,  for  the  vessel  is  now  in 
port,  and  Mary's  heart  gives  a  bound  as  she  sees 
an  eager  face  looking  among  the  crowd,  she 
knew  for  her. 

In  another  minute,  Philip  had  reached  her 
side,  and  whispered, 

"  To  be  parted  no  more,  Mary,  is  it  so  ?" 

"Xo  more,  Philip." 

The  congratulations  of  the  party  were  soon 
exchanged,  and  seated  in  two  carriages,  they 
drove  to  Monte  Rosa,  the  happy  father  \vith  his 
two  children,  and  Philip  and  Mary  following. 

There  was  much  to  tell,  and  much  to  hear; 
but  both  were  comparatively  silent,  as  deep  emo- 
tion always  is. 

Pedro  and  Theresa  were  the  first  to  welcome 
the  exiles  home  again. 

u  We  are  so  glad  to  see  you,  Donna  Maria," 
Baid  Theresa,  "it  is  a  bad  thing  to  be  without 
a  mistress,  but  \ve  have  tried  to  do  our  best." 

Theresa  conducted  the  young  lady  to  her 
room,  and  there  were  all  the  familiar  things  of 
former  days. 

"  How  Donna  Viola  has  grown  !"  said  the  ser- 
vant, *'  I  never  should  have  known  her,  and 
what,  a  beauty  !  just  like  her  mamma." 

"•  Yes,  Theresa,  I  think  she  is ;  but  better  than 
all,  she  is  a  good  child." 


THE    FULL    CORN   IN    THE    EAR.  271 

"  I  am  so  glad  yo'i  have  all  come ;  the  Senor 
has  been  so  lonesome,  I  declare  it  often  made  me 
cry  to  hear  him  walking  so  late  at  night  up 
and  down  in  the  Senhora's  room." 

"  He  won't  be  lonesome  any  more,  Theresa,  we 
have  all  come  home  to  stay  now." 

After  supper,  old  Pedro  invited  Mary  out  to 
see  the  flowers,  and  in  company  with  Philip,  she 
sought  the  garden. 

"  Here  is  your  rose,  bush,"  said  the  old  man, 
"it  has  been  well  taken  care  of,  and  this  gentle- 
man used  to  come  every  few  days  to  watch  them, 
too." 

Philip  smiled  at  the  old  man's  garrulity,  but 
whispered  to  his  companion, 

"  I  dont  deny  the  charge,  Mary,  they  were 
your  representatives." 

Early  the  next  morning,  Fanny  Austin  and 
her  mother  hurried  to  welcome  the  new  comers. 

"  This  is  my  second  daughter,"  said  the  lady, 
as  she  folded  Mary  in  a  warm  embrace. 

"And  my  dear  sister,"  added  Fanny. 

The  reunited  friends  had  a  great  deal  to  say, 
and  the  mother  and  sister  rejoiced  in  the  pros- 
pect of  keeping  Mary  among  them  for  life.  It 
is  one  of  the  loveliest  of  Brazilian  days,  and 
Philip  has  engaged  to  drive  Mary  and  Fanny  to 
their  favorite  resort. 


2V 2  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

How  keenly  did  each  remember  the  last  ride 
b  fore  she  left  Brazil,  their  hearts  filled  with 
thoughts  of  parting.  Now  how  different! 
henceforth  their  lives  were  to  flow  side  by  side 
on  the  same  stream  of  mortal  life,  all  servants 
of  the  same  Master,  bound  to  the  same  heavenly 
home,  and  Mary  felt  that  "  the  lines  had  fallen 
to  her  in  pleasant  places." 

Reaching  the  orange  grove,  they  rested  where 
they  had  often  sat  before,  and  Philip  remarked, 

"  "What  a  blessed  lot  is  ours,  Mary !  with  the 
means  of  blessing  so  many." 

"Yes,  Philip,  we  ought  to  be  thankful,  some- 
times I  wonder  at  what  I  see — papa  is  certainly 
a  changed  man,  Leon  I  am  sure  is  a  Christian, 
and  Viola  too." 

"  My  father  has  been  the  Senor's  most  intimate 
friend  for  a  long  time ;  the  priests  were  dread- 
fully exercised  for  a  while,  but  they  have  given 
the  matter  up,  now,  and  look  upon  Monte  Rosa 
as  the  very  hotbed  of  heresy." 

"  Yes,  and  I  suppose  that  I  am  the  sorceress." 

"  Father  Benedicito  does  not  give  you  his 
blessing,  Mary,"  said  Philip  smiling ;  "  it  is  quite 
amusing  to  hear  some  of  them  talk  about  Miss 
Davenport  and  her  school,  for  it  has  leaked  out ; 
I  suppose  that  Viola  has  told  some  of  her  Romau 
Catholic  friends." 


THE   FULL   CORN   IN   THE   EAR.  273 

"  What  are  they  afraid  of,  Philip  ?" 

"  They  are  afraid  that  some  of  the  children  of 
Romanists  may  get  there." 

"We  shall  not  refuse  them  if  they  come, 
Philip,  the  Bible  is  to  be  taught  there,  and  may 
scatter  some  of  the  darkness  around  us." 

"  Monte  Rosa  shall  be  the  light-house,  Mary, 
and  we  will  try  to  feed  the  lantern." 

"  Let  us  take  care  that  it  is  not  put  out." 

"  I  know  what  the  priests  would  do  if  they 
could,  Mary,  but,  fortunately,  they  cannot  inter- 
fere with  us." 

"We  shall  have  you  in  our  Sunday-school 
again,"  said  Fanny,  "several  of  your  scholars  are 
quite  grown  now,  but  they  have  never  forgotten 

you." 

In  communion  like  this  the  hours  stole  away, 
until  it  was  time  to  return. 

In  a  few  weeks,  Philip  Austin  was  placed  at 
the  head'  of  the  household,  with  Mary  for  his 
life  companion,  the  Senor  reserving  to  himself  a 
suite  of  rooms. 

Everything  was  now  changed  at  Monte  Rosa ; 
for  on  the  first  day  of  entrance,  Philip  Austin 
consecrated  his  household  to  the  Lord.  It  was 
indeed  a  contrast  to  former  days ;  instead  of  a 
family  whose  aims  and  pursuits  were  bounded 
by  this  lower  earth,  here  was  one  whose  daily 


274  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

life  and  immortal  hopes  stretched  onward  to 
eternity. 

No  desecrated  Sabbath,  no  low  sensual  pleas- 
ures, no  sound  of  giddy  company  and  midnight 
revels  ;  but  in  their  place,  a  life  of  blessedness  and 
peace — because  it  had  its  source  in  the  great 
fountain  head  of  happiness,  even  in  God  himself. 

The  servants  attended  at  the  family  devotions, 
and  old  Pedro  was  often  heard  to  say  that  young 
master's  prayers  did  him  more  good  than  all 
the  priests  of  Rio.  Mary  was  surprised  after  a 
few  weeks'  residence,  to  receive  a  visit  from 
Tapita,  who  begged  to  be  restored  to  the  house- 
hold ;  she  had  been  employed  in  the  cottage  on 
the  mountain,  but  as  soon  as  she  heard  of  Donna 
Maria's  return,  she  hastened  to  Monte  Rosa. 

Charlotte  Rogers  took  an  early  opportunity 
to  call  upon  Mary. 

"Do  you  know  how  much  you  are  talked 
about,  Mary  ?"  said  the  lady. 

"  No,  Charlotte,  I  was  not  aware  that  I  had 
excited  enough  of  interest  for  that." 

"  The  Brazilian  ladies  are  quite  indignant  at 
the  new  order  of  things  at  Monte  Rosa,  I  can 
assure  you,  for  formerly  it'  was  the  centre  of 
gaiety  at  Rio — its  dinner  parties  were  the  most 
luxurious,  its  balls  the  most  superb,  its  society 
the  most  select." 


THE    FULL   CORN   IN   THE   EAR.  275 

"  I  am  sorry  that  they  are  so  much  offended, 
Charlotte,  for  we  shall  have  none  of  these  things 
— rational  pleasures  we  enjoy,  but  none  of  the 
giddy  dissipation  of  the  world." 

"  I  think  you  carry  your  ideas  very  far,  Mary ; 
we  certainly  ought  to  conform  somewhat  to  tt»e 
customs  around  us,  or  else  become  ridiculous." 

"  I  think  so  too,  Charlotte,  but  it  must  be  only 
in  things  indifferent,  whenever  such  customs  are 
in  opposition  to  the  revealed  will  of  God,  duty  ia 
very  plain." 

"  It  does  make  you  so  conspicuous,  Mary." 

"We  do  not  seek  that,  Charlotte,  but  you 
know  that  we  are  commanded  to  'Let  our  light 
shine,'  and  not  to  place  it  under  a  bushel.  I 
suppose  that  in  a  place  like  Rio,  a  really  sober 
minded  Christian  family  must  be  singular,  it  ia 
so  contrasted  with  the  ungodliness  around." 

"  Do  you  never  mean  to  give  dinners,  Mary  ?" 

"  I  dare  say  that  we  shall  on  week-daya 
sometimes,  for  Philip  and  papa  have  frienda 
whose  intimacy  they  wish  to  cultivate,  especially 
among  the  English. " 

"  Will  you  never  give  balls,  not  even  when 
Viola  is  ready  for  society?" 

Mary  smiled — "  2s"ot  even  then,  Charlotte ;  ours 
is  a  household  of  God's  professed  servants,  we 
are  trying  to  live  for  a  better  world,  and  there- 


276  NOTHING  BUT  LEAVES. 

fore  must  be  contented  here  to  belong  to  those 
who  are  called  'a  peculiar  people,  zealous  of 
good  works.' " 

"  Will  you  have  no  female  society,  Mary  ?" 

"  That  we  shall,  something  is  due  to  tlie 
community  in  which  we  live;  we  shall  entertain 
our  friends  hospitably,  not  extravagantly  ;  ration- 
ally, but  not  after  the  fashion  of  the  people  of 
this  giddy  world — we  had  a  few  friends  to 
dinner  last  week." 

"  Yes,  I  heard  Senhora  de  Cabada  tell  about  it, 
and  she  thought  it  quite  pleasant,  though  so 
very  different  from  every  body  else ;  but  how 
does  the  Senor  like  such  a  change  ?" 

"  It  suits  him  exactly,  he  is  fond  of  domestic 
life ;  but  do  you  know  of  any  persons  wishing  to 
place  daughters  at  school  ?  Miss  Davenport  is 
anxious  to  secure  some." 

"  Is  she  a  Protestant,  Mary  ?" 

"  Yes  decidedly,  but  highly  accomplished,  and 
well  qualified  to  teach." 

"There  are  some  Protestant  families  who 
would  be  very  glad,"  was  the  reply,  naming 
three  or  four. 

Mr.  Austin  was  greatly  interested  in  the  plan, 
for  he  had  long  desired  such  a  school  for  the 
members  of  his  flock. 

Tlie  idea  was  eagerly  embraced,  and  furnishing 


THE   FULL   CORN   IN   THE   EAR.  277 

a  small  building  at  the  foot  of  the  grounds,  the 
initiatory  steps  were  taken,  and  Miss  Davenport 
opened  her  school  with  ten  pupils,  the  members 
of  Protestant  families,  and  by  the  particular 
request  of  the  principal,  Mary  was  placed  in 
charge  of  Bible  studies. 

Every  Monday  morning,  therefore,  we  find  he'r 
in  her  little  class-room  surrounded  by  her  pupils, 
in  her  own  spiritual  and  attractive  manner  ex- 
plaining to  them  the  precious  word  of  God. 

But  even  this  did  not  satisfy  her  desires  for 
usefulness.  Her  mother's  legacy  must  extend 
farther  than  the  mere  assistance  rendered  in  this 
manner. 

Consequently  we  find  her  one  morning  at  Mr. 
Austin's  study  door. 

He  knew  the  voice  that  followed  the  gentle 
knock. 

"  Come  in,  my  daughter,"  said  the  minister, 
"  what  brings  you  so  early  ?"  . 

"  Busy  thoughts  that  kept  me  awake  for  hours 
last  night,  papa,  and  I  have  come  to  consult  you 
about  a  plan  that  I  am  contemplating.  I  think 
of  establishing  a  few  scholarships  in  our  school, 
for  the  orphan  children  of  Rio ;  I  know  that  it 
must  be  very  few  at  first,  but  I  am  sure  that 
there  must  be  some  here,  who  need  just  such  an 
opportunity," 
24 


278  NOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

**  Do  you  contemplate  the  children  of  Protes- 
tants only  ?" 

"  By  110  means,  any  one  may  be  admitted,  but 
it  is  not  probable  that  any  Roman  Catholics 
will  ajply,  and  if  they  did,  the  priests  would 
interfere." 

UI  know  of  two,  Mary,  the  daughters  of  our 
organist ;  he  lost  his  wife  two  years  ago,  and  on 
account  of  his  poverty,  he  is  obliged  to  send  his 
children  to  the  Sisters'  school,  where  they  are 
taught,  all  the  superstitions  of  the  country  ;  they 
would  be  most  appropriate  objects  of  your 
benevolence;  you  will  find  their  father  in  a 
small  dwelling  just  back  of  the  chapel." 

Mary  hurried  over  to  Mr.  Harcourt's  to  make 
known  her  wishes. 

The  father  listened  with  deep  interest  to  her 
proposition,  and  replied, 

"This  is  just  what  their  mother  desired,  it 
has  been  a  source  of  great  trouble  to  place  them 
among  the  Romanists  of  this  city ;  but  I  could 
do  nothing  else."  Opening  the  door  leading  out 
into  the  passage  he  called,  "•  Maria,  Ellen,  a  lady 
wishes  to  see  you." 

In  a  few  minutes,  two  modest  little  girls,  one 
twelve,  and  the  other  ten  entered  the  room. 

A  half  hour's  pleasant  chat  secured  the  con- 
fidence of  the  children,  and  when  they  heard 


THE    FULL    CORN   IN    THE    EAR.  279 

that  they  were  to  go  to  school  at  Monte  Rosa, 
they  were  delighted  at  the  news,  and  said, 

"  Papa,  I  heard  Sophy  Reynolds  talking  about 
it  last  week  at  the  Sunday-school,  it  will  be  so 
nice  to  go  to  school  in  sight  of  such  a  beautiful 
garden." 

Next  Monday,  the  two  children  were  entered 
as  the  first  beneficiaries. 

It  was  a  pleasant  room  with  windows  opening 
on  the  garden,  only  separated  by  a  green  wire 
fence ;  the  room  covered  with  matting,  and 
furnished  with  every  convenience  and  comfort. 

The  most  attractive  feature,  however,  was  the 
sparkling  intelligent  teacher,  who  presided  over 
the  interesting  group.  Every  day,  Mary  Austin 
might  be  seen  walking  down  the  garden  path, 
plucking  flowers  by  the  way,  opening  the  little 
wicker  gate,  and  dropping  a  few  words  of  en- 
couragement to  the  animated  company  within. 

One  would  have  a  drawing,  another  an  attempt 
at  composition,  another  a  weekly  report,  all 
anxious  to  obtain  a  smile  from  Mrs.  Austin. 

One  morning,  an  aged  woman  was  seen  coming 
up  the  road  with  a  little  girl  by  the  hand.  As 
she  drew  near,  Mary  recognized  old  Carlotta, 
the  dweller  at  the  cottage  which  had  sheltered 
Inez.  Invited  into  the  class-room,  she  opened 
her  business. 


280  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

"I  have  brought  you  my  little  Annita,"  said 
the  old  woman,  "  she  lost  her  mother  two  years 
ago,  and  has  lived  with  me  ever  since  on  the 
mountain.  I  heard  about  your  school,  Senhora, 
and  I've  travelled  all  the  way  on  foot,  just  to  see 
if  I  cannot  get  Annita  in  among  you." 

"Ours  is  a  Protestant  school,  Carlotta,  and 
she  will  be  taught  the  Bible." 

"That's  just  what  I  want;  I  saw  what  the 
good  book  had  done  for  Donna  Inez,  and  I  want 
my  little  girl  to  learn  how  to  read  it." 

"  But  the  priests  will  not  let  her  stay  with  me, 
Carlotta." 

"  They  don't  know  me,  Senhora,  for  I  live  away 
on  the  mountain,  and  I  am  too  poor  to  be  cared 
about  very  much." 

"  Where  will  she  live,  Carlotta?  ours  is  not  a 
boarding-school." 

"  There  is  the  trouble,  Senhora ;  I  know  a  young 
woman,  a  friend  of  her  mother,  who  would  keep 
her  fora  small  sum;  I  shall  not  be  here  very 
long,  and  then  what  will  become  of  my  little 
girl?" 

"Come  again  to-morrow,  Carlotta,"  said  the 
lady,  "  and  I  will  tell  you  what  I  can  do." 

"Please,  Senhora,  let  me  stay,"  said  the  childv 
kissing  Mary's  hand,  and  fixing  her  full  dark 
eyes  upon  her  face. 


THE   FULL   CORN    EN   THE   EAR.  281 

The  consultation  with  her  husband  and  the 
Penor  ended  in  placing  Annita  in  the  list  of 
beneficiaries,  and  the  first  child  of  Roman  Cath- 
olic parentage  was  numbered  among  the  pupils, 
and  placed  also  in  the  Sunday-school  at  the 
chapel. 

The  doings  at  Monte  Rosa  excited  much 
observation  among  the  people  of  Rio,  and  when 
it  was  reported  that  the  lady  herself  was  em- 
ployed in  teaching  a  class,  many  wondered  what 
had  come  over  the  former  master  of  the  estab- 
lishment to  allow  such  degradation. 

Another  visit  from  Charlotte  Rogers. 

"  Do  you  know  that  you  are  really  losing 
caste,  Mary  Austin?  Who  ever  heard  of  a  lady 
occupying  your  position  in  a  city  like  this,  stoop- 
ing down  to  teach — actually  doing  the  work  of 
hired  persons." 

"I  esteem  it  a  great  privilege,  Charlotte,  to 
teach  the  word  of  God,  for  that  is  my  province 
in  Miss  Davenport's  school." 

"  You  will  provoke  the  enmity  of  the  priests, 
Mary,  for  I  hear  that  you  have  a  Roman  Cath- 
olic child  in  your  establishment," 

' "  I  am  trying  to  do  my  duty,  Charlotte,  and 
if  the  child  of  a  Romanist  is  brought  to  me,  I 
shill  certainly  not  turn  her  away." 

Charlotte  took  her  leave  disappointed,  and 
21* 


282  NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 

Mary  went  back  to  the  days  when  her  cousin 
walked  with  such  a  high  head  in  Ho.lyville, 
what  now  was  left  of  that  noisy  profession? 
"Nothing  but  leaves,"  and  even  these  were 
withered. 

The  family  at  Monte  Rosa  is  rapidly  becom- 
ing a  Protestant  household,  for  all  are  now  in 
attendance  upon  the  English  chapel,  and  in  full 
communion  with  its  membership;  the  Bible  is 
the  book  of  the  household,  and  the  family  ser- 
vants are  daily  brought  under  its  sacred  teach- 
ings, for  Philip  and  Mary  feel  their  responsi- 
bility for  the  people  committed  to  their  care. 

One  evening,  old  Pedro  asked  to  see  the  lady 
of  the  family.  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you, 
Senhora,  about  some  of  the  poor  people  on  the 
place  out  of  town ;  some  of  them  are  very  sick, 
and  there  is  no  one  to  look  after  them ;  I  was 
over  there  last  night,  and  could  not  sleep  think- 
ing about  them." 

"  Bring  up  the  carriage,  Pedro,  I  will  go  at 
once." 

And  visiting  the  place  herself,  Mary  found  a 
state  of  affairs  that  she  set  herself  at  once  to 
remedy.  And  first  she  sought  the  Seiior,  and 
acquainted  him  with  what  she  had  seen. 

"  I  appointed  an  overseer,  daughter,  and  gave 
him  directions  what  to  do." 


THE   FULL   CORN   IN   THE   EAE.  283 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  that,  papa,  but  he  is  a 
negligent,  cruel  man ;  let  me  have  the  sick 
brought  here ;  there  is  an  out-house  that  could 
easily  be  fitted  up,  and  then  I  can  see  to  them 
myself." 

"Do  you  know  what  you  are  undertaking, 
Mary?" 

"  Only  my  duty,  papa ;  if  we  have  such  people 
employed  in  our  service,  it  is  our  duty  to  take 
care  of  them :  don't  you  think  so,  papa  ?" 

"Do  what  you  will,  Mary,  I  am  sure  that  it 
will  be  right,"  and  the  Senor  pressed  a  fatherly 
kiss  upon  the  fair  forehead  of  his  daughter. 

All  that  day,  with  the  help  of  Pedro  and 
Theresa,  she  was  busy  in  getting  the  apartment 
ready  for  the  invalids. 

"  What  a  blessed  lady  we  have  got !"  said  the 
old  man,  when  Mary  returned  to  the  house.  "  I 
always  thought  that  she  was  a  real  lady,  and 
now  I  know  that  she  is  a  real  Christian,  for  no 
one  else  would  care  about  these  poor  people  but 
such  a  one  as  the  Senhora." 

]SText  day,  four  of  the  sick  were  brought  to  the 
new  Infirmary,  and  Mary  Austin  might  be  seen 
all  day  looking  after  the  sufferers,  waiting  upon 
them,  providing  for  their  comfort,  and  dropping 
her  gentle,  holy  words  among  them.  It  was 
curious  to  watch  the  wondering  gaze  that  fol- 


284  KOTHING    BUT   LEAVES. 

lowed  the  lady;  for  it  was  the  first  time  that  a 
ministering  angel  had  crossed  their  weary  path, 
and  none  of  her  rank  had  ever  deigned  to  notice 
their  existence  before. 

When  Philip  came  home  to  dinner,  Mary  was 
not  ready  to  greet  him ;  on  inquiring  for  her,  he 
was  directed  to  the  Infirmary.  Standing  quietly 
in  the  doorway,  he  watched  her  motions  among 
the  sufferers ;  her  back  was  towards  the  door, 
and  she  was  administering  a  bowl  of  gruel  her- 
self to  a  poor  old  woman,  who  was  kissing -the 
little  hand  of  the  gentle  nurse ;  advancing  a  step 
forward,  the  noise  attracted  her  notice,  and 
turning,  she  perceived  her  husband. 

"  God  bless  you,  Mary,  in  your  noble  work," 
said  the  young  man ;  "  there  are  few  around  us 
who  care  for  these  poor  creatures." 

"It  is  so  sweet  to  see  their  gratitude,  Philip; 
who  wants  purer  pleasures  than  this  ?" 

Thus  the  Infirmary  at  Monte  Rosa  was  started, 
and  it  became  at  last  an  established  chanty, 
under  the  care  of  a  good  and  faithful  nurse. 
But  never  did  Mary  Austin  forget  the  daily 
visit,  when,  with  all  the  tenderness  of  a  Chris- 
tian woman,  she  sat  down  by  the  lowly  cots, 
and  whispered  her  Saviour's  holy  words  around 
the  beds  of  the  neglected  arid  despised. 

Thither  were  the  sick  ones  brought,  and  the 


THE   FULL    CORN   IN   TIiE  EAR.  285 

influence  thus  acquired  opened  a  highway  in 
many  a  heart  for  the  Master's  messages. 

Alary  was  not  alone  in  her  holy  mission,  for 
Philip  was  in  all  things  counseller,  guide,  com- 
fort. Jfo  spasmodic  benevolence  marked  the 
piety  at  Monte  Rosa  ;  the  genuine  fruits  of  a 
"  life  hidden  with  Christ  in  God ;"  the  sponta- 
neous acts  and  words  transpiring  beneath  its 
roof,  were  but  the  revelations  of  the  principle 
within. 

A  few  words  from  Mary's  Diary  will  exhibit 
something  of  her  internal  spiritual  life. 

"A  year  has  passed  since  with  Philip  for  my 
companion,  I  took  another  important  step  in  the 
pilgrimage  of  .life.  Yesterday  was  the  ani- 
versary  of  that  event,  for  we  have  agreed  to 
put  up  a  pillar  in  every  return  of  that  happy  day. 

"We  had  a  pleasant  evening;  the  Austins, 
Charlotte  and  her  husband,  a  few  of  Philip  and 
papa's  select  friends  assembled  with  us — we  had 
a  handsome  dinner,  and  after  that  was  over,  the 
gifts  were  all  brought  out.  A  watch  and 
trinkets  from  Philip,  a  set  of  silver  from  papa, 
and  some  keepsakes  from  both  families,  delight- 
ful music,  and  pleasant  social  intercourse. 

"  In  the  course  of  the  evening,  the  girls  of  Miss 
Davenport's  school  spent  an  hour  with  us, 
ainging  some  of  their  sweet  pieces,  and  each 


NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

depositing  her  bouquet  of  flowers  in  the  large 
vase  upon  the  centre  table. 

"  What  a  blessed  year  the  past  has  been !  Leon 
is  such  a  comfort  to  papa,  and  Viola  growing  in 
grace  and  loveliness,  but  what  part  of  the 
pilgrim's  journey  have  I  already  reached? 

'"Looking  unto  Jesus !'  I  think  I  shall  never 
get  beyond  that.  It  was  that  which  guided  my 
first  trembling  footsteps — it  was  that  which 
enabled  me  to  lay  hold  of  the  promises — it  was 
that  which  has  directed  every  footstep  of  my 
way  thus  far. 

"'Looking  unto  Jesus,'  I  was  enabled  to  walk 
humbly  and  peacefully  in  a  family  dead  to  God. 
*  Looking  unto  Jesus,'  I  was  led  safely  through 
Vanity  Fair,  sometimes  in  the  Valley  of  Humili- 
ation, sometimes  in  view  of  the  Delectable  Mount- 
tains,  or  the  land  of  Beulah. 

"  I  see  so  many  short  comings,  so  many  failures 
to  exhibit  the  real  loveliness  of  the  Gospel, 
but  '  Looking  unto  Jesus,'  I  renounce  all  other 
pleas  for  acceptance,  and  thus  have  peace. 

There  may  be  much  of  trial  in  my  future  life, 
for  if  I  am  truly  the  Lord's,  the  purifying  days 
must  come;  but  with  this  motto,  I  have  nought 
to  fear,  and  'Looking  unto  Jesus,'  I  shall  pass 
through  the  dark  valley  of  the  shadmv  of  death 
fearing  no  evil." 


FULL    CORN   IN   THE   EAR.  287 

Piety  is  reproductive — light  must  travel — the 
leaven  must  work — the  seed  must  germinate. 

And  thus  the  spiritual  life  of  Mary  Austin  had 
been  gradually  developed,  "  First  the  blade, 
then  the  ear,  then  the  full  corn  in  the  ear,"  until 
in  this  distant  land,  the  rich  ripe  corn  was 
casting  its  golden  grains — here  a  grain,  and 
there  a  grain,  silently  as  is  the  process  in 
nature;  one  in  some  youthful  bosom  in  the 
school  that  was  daily  increasing  in  usefulness, 
another  in  the  class  at  the  Sabbath-school, 
another  in  the  heart  of  some  poor,  neglected 
being  who  languished  in  the  Infirmary,  hourly 
around  the  dear  hearth-stone  at  Monte  Rosa,  and 
not  uufrequently  among  the  mansion.  We 
cannot  refrain  from  looking  back  at  the  starting 
point  of  two  lives  in  the  quiet  village  of  Holly- 
ville. 

Let  us  for  one  moment  direct  a  glance  towards 
the  prim  young  girl,  who  so  often  took  upon 
herself  to  censure  the  course  of  Mary  Elliott. 
Like  a  rocket  naming  up  to  the  zenith,  and  then 
dying  out  in  noise,  leaving  nothing  behind  but 
charred  remains  of  a  dead  branch,  we  leave  her 
now.  To  the  eye  of  man,  we  behold  an  ele- 
gant woman,  the  centre  of  a  fashionable  circle, 
with  a  face  wreathed  in  smiles,  a  form  decked 
with  the  richest  costume,  the  envy  of  her  giddj 


288  NOTHING   BUT   LEAVES. 

companions — but  to  the  eye  of  God,  a  tree  once 
planted  in  the  vineyard  of  the  Lord,  dying 
at  the  root,  and  crowned  only  with  a  few  blasted 
withering  leaves  on  the  sickly  branches. 

"Nothing  bvt  leaves,  no  ripened  sheaves, 

Garnered  of  life's  fair  grain  ; 
We  sow  our  seed — lo,  tares  and  weeds, 

Words,  idle  words,  for  earnest  deeds } 
Ripening  we  find  with  pain, 
'Nothing  but  leaves.' " 


ZflE   KNBi 


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